Varin was… somewhere else. Or maybe inside somewhere else. It was hard to tell where he ended and the thing began. He could see it, him, moving like a shadow given weight, lunging, snarling, teeth bared against the wax giant. Every strike, every roar, echoed through his skull like thunder in a locked room.
Part of him was almost relieved to see it losing. Because he knew what would come next if it didn't, he could feel it in the back of his throat; the beast didn't care who stood in front of it. Ally, enemy, innocent, it didn't matter. The wolf's world was simple. Whoever stood tallest would be the next to fall. It wasn't fighting for them. It was fighting to feed the storm in its chest.
The Candle Man was only a target because he felt strongest. If that mountain fell, the wolf would just climb the next one. Luffy, then Mister 5, then maybe the girl with the paints, until nothing was left but torn ground and the sound of its own panting.
All that thing felt was hunger. Rage. No mercy, just a thrill that wasn't his, pounding through his blood. It didn't kill because it needed to. It killed because it liked to. Because of it, that was the purpose.
Varin pushed forward, or tried to. The air in this place, the mirror-space of his own mind, was solid, resisting him like glass. He pressed a palm against it and saw ripples scatter across the surface, faintly reflecting his face in shards. His other half glared back through the fracture lines, eyes burning gold and wild.
He tried again, harder, but it didn't budge. The wolf turned its head mid-fight, as if sensing him, a snarl curling through its lips. And for the first time, he realized it wasn't just some dumb animal running on bloodlust.
It was watching him, too.
Smarter than its kin, sharper than instinct alone, but too reliant on its muscles, on the raw force of fury. It was power without restraint.
And right now, he was the thing it hated most: a leash.
"I've always hated being chained, boy." The voice came from behind him, low, guttural, scraping through the air like metal dragged across stone. Every word dripped with venom, more than Varin thought anything could hold.
"So give me control. Let me free. Let me kill."
Varin froze. He didn't need to turn to know who it was. The tone, the weight of it, it wasn't a stranger's. It was his own shadow given a throat. He clenched his fists anyway, feeling that familiar pulse behind his ribs, the one that wasn't fully his heartbeat.
"I can do that, Fenrir," Varin said quietly, turning at last.
The thing waiting for him wasn't quite the wolf tearing apart the clearing, but close enough to be its reflection. Taller, leaner, eyes too bright, too knowing. The fur clung to muscle like smoke to fire, and when it breathed, the air rippled with heat.
"I wasn't asking, child!" Fenrir roared. The sound hit like a shockwave, rattling through Varin's chest and shaking the ground beneath them. Then it lunged.
Varin didn't move. He couldn't. Part instinct, part stubborn defiance, he wanted to prove something, though he wasn't sure what. That this was still his mind? That he still had a say? He just hoped his logic wasn't as flimsy as it felt.
Fenrir's form crashed through him. Not over, not around, through.
Varin gasped, arching forward as a cold heat burned through every nerve. It was like letting lightning crawl down his spine. The wolf's essence slid into him, sharp and heavy, filling the spaces thought once lived in. He could feel claws raking along the inside of his skin, not tearing, just testing.
He was still standing when it ended, but it didn't feel like a victory. His breath came in shallow bursts, and somewhere deep inside, he could hear Fenrir's laughter, low, echoing, satisfied.
"See, boy?" it whispered, curling in his chest. "Chains can break from the inside too."
"May–maybe so, but you will not break me. Not now." Varin's voice came out rough, more bark than words. His stomach churned, his skin still crawling from the way Fenrir's essence had passed through him. It felt like he'd swallowed fire and ice at the same time. He shook his head hard, like he could throw the feeling off. It helped, barely.
"The gods feared me," Fenrir said, his voice dropping into something almost calm, a growl wrapped in a smirk. "They chained me with all their power, bound me beneath the roots of worlds… and still I waited. Tell me, boy, what can you do to stop me?"
The wolf stepped into view again, each footfall echoing through the strange void like thunder wrapped in silk. He circled once before sitting back on his haunches, silver eyes narrowing in amusement. The venom from before had dulled, replaced by something worse: curiosity.
Varin's jaw tightened. He could feel it, the pull, that deep gnawing inside trying to drag him down, to make him kneel. "You talk too much for a beast," he muttered, though his voice trembled just enough to betray the effort it took to stand his ground.
Fenrir's grin stretched wide, all teeth and darkness. "And you think too much for prey."
Silence stretched, thick enough to taste. Neither moved, just the faint flicker of tension between them like heat above stone. The air felt close, taut, the kind of quiet that swallows sound instead of carrying it.
Spoiler: Varin broke first.
It started small, a breath caught wrong in his throat. Then it built, spilling out of him in ragged, genuine laughter. Not the polite kind, not the nervous kind, real laughter, raw and full. "You're just as I imagined," he said between breaths, shaking his head as if the absurdity of it all had finally sunk in. "I spent half my life wondering how the big meet would be. My family used to tell stories about the ones inside their fruits, gods, spirits, monsters, but no one ever drew yours. I was the first. And I thought, damn, Fenrir must be something beyond comprehension."
He smirked, a wild edge cutting through his grin. "So much worry, so much legend, and this is it? Some mutt with anger issues?"
Fenrir didn't snarl this time. His lips curled, yes, but it wasn't rage. It was an amusement. His eyes gleamed, faintly luminous in the dark, and for the first time, the beast looked alive in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. "You mock what you don't understand," the wolf said softly, almost kindly. "You laugh because you're scared, and because part of you knows I'm right here."
Varin only laughed harder. The sound tore through the stillness like a jagged blade, echoing off the nothing around them. He bent double, clutching his ribs as his laughter came in uneven bursts. "You are so corny, you know that?" he managed between wheezes, his voice cracking just enough to betray how much it hurt to laugh. "Gods, you sound like every wannabe prophet I've ever met."
Fenrir's head tilted slightly, watching him. No anger this time, just that glint of predatory patience.
"I mean, really," Varin went on, straightening up, still grinning like he'd just won some private joke. "I swear on Odin's last damn eye, you've seen everything I've lived through. You know what I've done, what I've survived. So tell me, where the hell do you get 'fear' from?" He took a breath, the edge of humor fading into something colder. "I burned that out of me a long time ago. The panic, the thrill, all of it. Fear got boring. Adrenaline too. You can only wonder if you're gonna die every five seconds before it starts feeling like clockwork."
He met Fenrir's gaze then, steady and unflinching. "So no, big bad wolf, I don't laugh because I'm scared. I laugh because this, " he gestured around at the endless black, the beast before him, is just another story with your name scribbled in it. And I've already read worse."
Fenrir didn't answer. It just watched him, motionless, golden eyes like molten coins catching faint light that wasn't there. The silence stretched. Seconds? A minute? Hard to tell. Neither moved, neither blinked, both waiting for the other to flinch first.
Then Varin's breath hitched. A sudden, lancing pain tore through his side, sharp enough to steal sound from his throat. His hand clamped down on his ribs by instinct, warm blood slipping between his fingers.
He turned back toward the battle he'd been watching from that black space, and the reason became clear. The Candle Giant's fist had crashed into the wolf's ribs, caving in part of its flank. And since the wolf was his body… the damage carried over.
The realization hit a moment before the next wave of pain. The connection wasn't symbolic or spiritual; it was literal. And it sucked.
"Alright, well, if I die, so do you, so mind sending me back or something? Before I suffer any more organ damage?" Varin hissed out, one hand pressed to his side as he dropped to a knee.
If it was enough to bring him down, it wasn't just pain; it was real, deep damage. He'd fought through slash wounds, broken ribs, and worse, but this felt different. The wolf's body didn't flinch from pain; it ignored it. Every nerve in his real body, though, screamed in return.
Fenrir's silhouette leaned forward, teeth catching the dim light from nowhere. Its voice came quieter this time, but the weight in it was heavier than before.
"You're interesting, boy. You have a point."
Varin could feel that grin without looking.
"Just overpower the anger you used to gain that pathetic excuse for what's supposed to be," the wolf said, tone dripping with amusement. "Then you'll be back in your body."
Varin exhaled sharply, the sound half a growl. "Right. Just like that." He dug his fingers into the void beneath him; it felt like smoke, but solid enough to resist.
"Control the anger," he muttered to himself, trying to focus. But the harder he tried to calm down, the louder the beast's heartbeat became in his head. It wasn't just sound; it was rhythm. The same rhythm as his own pulse, syncing faster, deeper.
Fenrir's laugh rolled through the dark like thunder on a cliffside. "Go on then, boy. Let's see if you're strong enough to cage something the gods couldn't."
Those were the last words before everything cracked apart, like reality itself exhaled and spat him out. The black dissolved, and suddenly Varin was back in his body. Except not where he expected.
He blinked, leaves in his face, the earthy smell of crushed grass in his nose. He was half-sprawled in the treeline, using a bush as an accidental bed. For a moment, he just lay there, chest heaving. Then the pain hit.
It wasn't sharp; it was a deep, grinding throb that made his stomach twist. The left side of his abdomen looked wrong, a shallow dent where flesh should've been whole. Breathing hurt. Hell, existing hurt. He reached down and winced when his fingers brushed bruised bone. Definitely a few ribs cracked, maybe worse.
"Fantastic," he muttered through clenched teeth, dragging himself up onto an elbow. The world tilted hard to the left. "Gonna add that to the list of 'fun spiritual experiences.'"
Varin spat a thick line of blood into the dirt, the metallic taste clinging to his tongue. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and peered through the trees. The Candle Giant still loomed over the clearing, wax gleaming under the sun like polished bone. Luffy and Usopp were darting through the chaos, the latter clinging to Karoo like his life depended on it, which, to be fair, it probably did.
With a sharp grunt, Varin pushed himself upright, every muscle in his side screaming in protest. He stumbled once, caught himself on the trunk of a nearby tree, and muttered something halfway between a curse and a prayer.
"I… I guess I oughta thank ya," he rasped, limping toward the treeline. His voice was dry, bitter, but laced with a feral humor that refused to die. "Took a hell of a hit to knock some sense into me… even if it came with a dent or two."
He straightened, cracked his neck, and glared toward the wax giant with renewed focus. The pain didn't fade, but it stopped mattering.
"Oh?" Mister 3 tilted his head, the faint smirk on his face curling into something crueler as his eyes flicked over Varin's sorry state. "So this is the real you? No snarling beast to hide behind this time, no convenient monster to blame when things get ugly?" He stepped forward, wax creaking faintly underfoot like the world itself was holding its breath for him.
He gestured lazily with one hand, as if presenting Varin to an invisible crowd. "Still looks feral, though. Wild eyes, blood all over you, teeth grit like you're trying to chew through pain itself. Tell me, " his grin widened, sharp as the glint off his polished wax arm, "do you honestly believe you can beat me like this? Weaker than that mutt you turned into, ribs cracked, body half-broken, barely standing?"
He knelt slightly, just enough to meet Varin's eyes. "You're trembling, boy. Every breath looks like it hurts. Every step you take just shows me how close you are to collapsing." His tone shifted into something mocking, syrup-thick with mock sympathy. "It's almost tragic. You tried to act like some unstoppable beast, but strip away the theatrics and what's left? Just a man pretending to be more than he is."
A faint flick of his wrist, and wax began to slide down his arm like liquid ivory, coiling and hardening into sharp, jagged spikes. The air shimmered faintly with heat, the scent of molten wax mingling with smoke. "You know," he continued, almost conversationally, "I admire your stubbornness. It's cute, really. But it won't change the facts. Just in case you didn't understand, as the beast, my wax is harder than steel, unyielding. Every punch you throw, every desperate move you make, just gets swallowed by it. That wolf couldn't touch me, and it was stronger than you."
He stood straight again, rolling his shoulders, the wax shifting and reforming across his torso in fluid patterns as the Candle Champion armor began to take shape once more. "But hey," he added with a smirk, "I suppose it'd be rude not to let you try. Go on then, show me what's left of that fight. Let's see how far raw defiance gets you when perfection stands in your way."
The ground creaked slightly as he stepped forward, a wax-coated fist tightening until the sound echoed like stone under pressure. His eyes gleamed from behind the sheen of his armor, cold and arrogant. "Make it interesting for me, at least. I'd hate to waste good craftsmanship on a corpse that couldn't put up a decent struggle."
Varin's grin widened, a flash of teeth through blood and dirt. "Stronger maybe," he said, his voice hoarse but sharp, "but I notice something, flame-boy. That ridiculous candle on your head it sticks out of the armor. Kinda dumb design flaw, huh? Like all wax, yours melts when it gets too hot, doesn't it?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He moved.
Pain screamed through his body as he sprang upward, using the tree beside him as leverage to vault over the towering Candle Champion. Every muscle protested, but adrenaline and spite did the rest. He landed hard on the armor's broad shoulder, his boots skidding against the slick wax. In one hand, he still clutched a broken branch from the bush he'd landed in earlier, half-dead, brittle, and dry enough to catch quick.
With a savage yank, he grabbed a fistful of Mister 3's ridiculous wax-flame hair. The man barely had time to register what Varin was doing before the pirate slammed the branch into the flickering candle atop his head. The fire caught instantly, running up the length of the stick like it had been waiting for the chance.
"Appreciate the light!" Varin barked, laughter cutting through the chaos as he rammed the flaming branch down into the wax plating.
The result was immediate. The heat licked across the armor's surface, turning that glossy sheen into a bubbling mess. Wax began to drip down the giant's back, slow at first, then faster as the heat spread. The perfect white armor gleamed wetly, rippling like liquid glass.
"Get off me, you savage!" Mister 3 roared, thrashing as the wax titan stumbled. His arms, thick and heavy, swung wildly, but the joints were too rigid, too slow to reach the nuisance clinging to his back. Varin rode it like a beast trying to buck him off, jamming the flaming branch deeper into the seams of the armor, spreading the fire wherever he could reach.
"Can't take the heat?" Varin shouted over the crackle of burning wax. He could feel the heat biting his skin now, the air thick with the smell of melting candle and singed hair, but he didn't stop.
The Candle Champion shuddered, pieces of armor dripping away in molten chunks. Each swing Mister 3 took only made it worse, wax splattered, hardened, and broke off again, the body of the creation collapsing in on itself.
"Guess that perfection of yours wasn't heatproof after all!" Varin barked out between ragged breaths, his grin still feral, half-mad.
And for the first time, he saw something flicker in Mister 3's eyes beneath the fury, fear.