Varin was watching his body attempt to rip Leif apart. Just like when he'd lost control in that little garden, except this version was infinitely more powerful. And wouldn't lose to some idiot in a wax shell.
And the weirdest part of it all? Varin felt light. Open. Free would be a better word. He'd let it out, all the suppressed anger and sadness and every emotion he'd been holding back like a tide.
"Tell me something, Fenrir," Varin asked, looking left to the massive wolf. Still chained, but the restraints seemed looser now. The front left paw was no longer shackled to anything.
The wolf looked at him out of the side of its eye before turning back to watching the carnage outside Varin's mindspace. The fight continued in reality, his body moving, Leif blocking and counterattacking, both of them bleeding heavily.
"Why did you act so different when we first met in that little garden?" Varin continued. "I mean, you were still an asshole. But some of your words felt like you were reading from a script."
Fenrir's growl filled the mindspace, echoing off endless walls before it ceased with a sigh. The wolf's massive form shifted slightly, a gesture that was closer to frustration than anything else. "My father gave me a list of things I should say to my host," Fenrir said flatly. "And if they fell for it, I was to kill them."
"Glad to know I passed," Varin said dryly before he turned his gaze back to the fight.
"Hopefully not for much longer," Fenrir rumbled. "I much prefer a better host. Something that actually knows how to use what it's been given instead of stumbling around like a blind fool."
Varin rolled his eyes. "Ya know what? How do you even know I'm bad? Not like you've ever had another host. So why don't you shut up and enjoy the ride."
"Because I've had centuries to observe hosts come and go," Fenrir shot back. "And you're not one of them."
"Right, and yet here you are, still stuck with me," Varin said. "So either stop complaining or find another way out. Those are your options."
In reality, Leif was moving faster now. He'd abandoned precision entirely and was relying on pure speed and strength. His blade came at Varin in brutal combinations, each strike carrying the weight of someone who'd finally accepted that technique alone wouldn't win this.
Varin's body met every attack head-on. His claws scraped against the blade, his fur rippled as impacts landed, and his breathing came heavy and fast. But he was pushing forward still.
"He's good," Fenrir grudgingly acknowledged. "I'll give your brother that. He's actually adapting instead of just relying on what worked before. Those abilities of his are rather interesting as well; the six powers he called them.
"...Aye, I kinda remember them. Think I actually practiced a few before my exile. Can't remember much of them," Varin said internally, straining to pull the memories forward. "There's the jumpy one. One that turns your body hard as steel. And... and..." He gave up with a frustrated growl. "There's more. Strong ones. Every agent in Cipher Pol needs to know them."
"So you trained in them," Fenrir said flatly. "And then forgot them. Wonderful. Your incompetence never ceases to amaze me."
"Shut up," Varin snapped.
Leif shifted his size mid-strike. His massive frame contracted, becoming smaller and faster. The blade came at Varin from an angle that the twelve-foot wolf-man couldn't defend against. The sword bit deep into Varin's shoulder, tearing through muscle and bone.
Varin snarled and spun to follow the movement, but Leif was already expanding again, his frame growing larger and more imposing. The increased mass gave his next strike devastating force. When his blade came down, it was with the weight of something approaching fifteen feet tall.
Varin barely managed to raise his claws in time. The impact drove him down to one knee, the stone platform cracking beneath the force of the collision.
Leif didn't pull back. He pressed forward, his sword singing through the air in rapid succession. Strike after strike, each one calculated and precise. Varin's claws came up to block, but he was being pushed back inch by inch, his body slowly being driven toward the edge of the platform.
Blood dripped from both of them now, but Leif's wounds were closing faster. His body was adapting to the constant combat, the Draugr form adjusting to match the pace of damage.
Varin lunged forward, trying to close the distance, trying to get inside his brother's guard where the blade couldn't reach him. Leif sidestepped and used a technique that made his body move with impossible speed. He appeared behind Varin, his blade coming around for a strike aimed at his brother's back legs.
Varin twisted instinctively, but not fast enough. The blade caught him across the hip, drawing blood in a wide arc. The wound wasn't deep enough to sever the limb, but it compromised his mobility. His back left leg wasn't responding as quickly as before.
Leif contracted his size again, becoming more agile. He moved with the fluidity of something half his previous size, his blade weaving patterns that were becoming increasingly difficult for Varin to track. The wolf-man's attacks were becoming more desperate now, less coordinated.
Leif expanded again, growing to nearly seventeen feet tall. His blade came down in an overhead strike that was pure force and gravity. Varin rolled to the side, the blade missing him by inches but hitting the stone platform so hard that the entire surface cracked. A section of the edge crumbled away, stone falling toward the docks far below.
Varin came up on all fours and charged. His massive frame moved with raw aggression, but Leif was already shifting size, contracting to something more maneuverable. He slipped under Varin's attack and came up with an upward thrust that forced the wolf-man to throw himself backward to avoid being impaled.
They exchanged positions, Varin now closer to the stable part of the platform while Leif positioned himself between his brother and the passage entrance. Blocking the only way off the arena.
Leif expanded to his full height and brought his blade down with enough force to split the platform. Varin rolled to the side, but the shockwave from the strike threw him backward. He skidded across the stone, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
The edge of the platform was close now. Varin pushed himself up and came at Leif again. It was a desperate attack, all teeth and claws and no strategy. Leif simply contracted his size, slipped inside the attack, and brought his elbow back in a strike that connected with Varin's ribs.
The impact drove the air from Varin's lungs. He fell to one knee, blood dripping from his mouth now. His breathing was ragged. His movements were becoming sluggish.
Varin pushed himself up and came at Leif again. It was a desperate attack, all teeth and claws and no strategy. Leif simply contracted his size, slipped inside the attack, and brought his elbow back in a strike that connected with Varin's ribs.
The impact drove the air from Varin's lungs. He fell to one knee, blood dripping from his mouth now. His breathing was ragged. His movements were becoming sluggish.
Something shifted. The black faded from Varin's eyes. Not completely, but enough that human awareness flickered back into focus behind the feral darkness. He could feel the pain now. Every wound, every impact, every moment of damage the body had sustained. The wolf had been insulating him from it, pushing past the suffering through pure instinct. Now that pain came rushing back like a tide.
Leif brought his blade down. Varin rolled to the side instead of trying to block. The blade passed inches from his body, close enough that he felt the air crack around the steel. He came up on his feet, still in the war form, still massive and lupine, but moving with a different quality now. Less reckless, and more calculated.
Leif expanded his size again, growing taller, broader. His blade came around in a horizontal slash. Varin didn't try to counter it. He dropped low, letting the blade pass over his head, and came at his brother from underneath.
Leif saw the movement coming and shifted his stance, raising his knee defensively. Varin's claws raked across Leif's thigh but didn't penetrate deeply. He was already moving away, his body responding to conscious direction rather than pure hunger.
Leif contracted his size and used the momentum to spin, bringing his blade around in a strike aimed at Varin's neck. Varin twisted his head, the blade passing so close he felt the wind of its passage. He pushed backward, creating distance, his four-legged stance giving him stability even as he retreated.
Leif pressed forward. His blade came at Varin in a series of strikes that were becoming increasingly vicious. Not precision cuts anymore, but powerful swings designed to overwhelm through sheer force.
Varin dodged the first strike by dropping his front half low, his massive frame compressing in a way that shouldn't be possible. The blade passed over him. He came up and moved to the side as Leif's next attack came, the sword missing him by inches.
Leif expanded his size again, growing to nearly twenty feet. His frame filled the arena, his presence becoming almost overwhelming. He brought his blade up and came down in a devastating overhead strike.
Varin launched himself forward instead of backward. He moved underneath the trajectory of the blade, running on all fours with his body pressed low against the stone. He felt the shockwave from the strike hit the platform behind him, felt the stone crack and splinter.
He came up behind Leif's guard and swiped at his brother's leg. The claws connected, tearing a line of blood across muscle. Leif pivoted immediately, his blade coming around in a backhanded strike aimed at Varin's head.
Varin ducked under it and kept moving, circling around his brother. He was trying to keep distance now, trying to tire Leif out rather than engage in direct combat. His body was screaming with exhaustion. Every breath sent pain through his ribs. His movements were slower, more deliberate.
Leif contracted his size, becoming smaller and faster. He moved with the speed of something that was close to Varin's size now, his blade whipping through the air in patterns that forced Varin to keep moving. The wolf-man dodged left, then right, then backward, each movement taking him closer to the edge of the platform.
Varin twisted away from a thrust aimed at his midsection. He came around with a claw strike of his own, but Leif's blade intercepted it, sending sparks flying across the platform.
Leif shifted his size again, growing larger. The blade came down with force that made the entire arena tremble. Varin rolled to the side, feeling the impact shake the stone beneath him. Cracks spread outward from where the blade had struck.
He pushed himself up and moved again, this time laterally across the platform. Leif followed, his movements becoming more aggressive now. The size fluctuations were coming faster, Leif adapting his form to each moment of combat with practiced efficiency.
Varin dodged a horizontal slash by dropping to the ground. He came up running, his four-legged stance carrying him across the platform with surprising speed. Leif was right behind him, his blade coming at Varin from multiple angles.
One of the strikes got through. Leif's blade caught Varin across the back, tearing a deep gash. Varin snarled and twisted away, but the damage was done. Blood ran down his side in heavy rivulets.
Leif didn't give him time to recover. He came at his brother with a combination of strikes that was designed to overwhelm through relentless pressure. Varin dodged the first, sidestepped the second, rolled under the third.
But he was tiring. His movements were becoming less fluid. Each dodge was slightly slower than the last.
Leif expanded his size to nearly eighteen feet and raised his blade for what looked like a finishing strike. The sword came down with all the force his massive frame could generate.
Varin threw himself forward instead of back. He felt the blade graze his back, felt hot pain lance through him, but he was moving away from the strike's trajectory. He came up running, desperate to maintain distance, desperate to find some way to turn this around.
And he found it.
Varin's claws found purchase in his brother's abdomen. The angle was perfect, or perfectly terrible depending on perspective. His entire hand drove forward with the momentum of Leif's own attack pushing behind him. The claws didn't just puncture. They went clean through.
There was a grotesque pop as they emerged from the other side.
Leif made a sound that wasn't quite a scream. His body went rigid. The constant fluctuations in his size stopped. The Six Powers techniques that had been flowing through his body like water all ceased at once. He fell to one knee, his blade dropping from nerveless fingers.
Blood ran down Varin's arm. He could feel his brother's heartbeat through the contact, could feel the moment when Leif's regeneration finally gave up trying to heal a wound that was simply too catastrophic. Varin pulled his hand back slowly.
Leif was on both knees now, breathing in short, wet gasps. The wound was catastrophic. But not fatal for him. And Varin was going to let him go. He was going to pull away. He was going to show mercy to his brother because he was his brother.
Then Leif looked up at him, his eyes still sharp despite the blood pouring from his mouth. "Við Styrnvaldar deyjum með dýrð," Leif said, his voice barely a whisper. "Endalaust skömm án dýrðligrar dauða. Til Valhöll með dýrð eða ekkert."
We Styrnvalds die with honor. Endless shame without honorable death. To Valhalla with honor or nothing.
The words hit Varin and the war form collapsed. His twelve-foot frame contracted and reshaped, fur receding, bones cracking back into human configuration. Within seconds, Varin was human again, standing over his kneeling brother. "No," Varin said flatly. His voice was raw. Furious. Not the shame-filled rage of someone who'd been backed into a corner, but genuine anger. "No, you bastard."
"Brother," Leif said, and his voice was gentle now, even as his arm gave out, using his last bit of strength to push himself onto his back. "It was always going to end this way."
Varin wanted to argue. Wanted to refuse. But he understood what Leif was saying. In their world, in the world of the Styrnvalds, there was no middle ground. No mercy that didn't come with shame. Leif couldn't return to the family having been bested in an honorable duel and released. He couldn't live knowing he'd been spared.
But before Varin could act, his brother turned slightly toward the shadows of the passage entrance. "Freyida," Leif called, his voice still steady despite the blood. "Come here, little Valkyrie."
The small girl emerged slowly, her toy still clutched in her hands. She looked at her father, then at Varin, confusion and fear warring on her face.
Leif reached out with one hand, and Freyida took it hesitantly.
"Your uncle is free to leave," Leif said to his daughter, but the words were for everyone listening. "Per the holmgang law, he may depart this fortress." He squeezed Freyida's hand gently. "Take care of your mother," he said to his daughter. "Tell her I love her. Tell her I died as a Styrnvald should. And do not hate your uncle for this; if you have to, hate me for being too weak to kill a simple pirate."
Varin picked up his brother's blade and stood above Leif's prone body. The Draugr transformation had dissipated, leaving him his normal self. His silver eyes met Varin's identical ones, and he nodded softly. Varin gripped the sword in his shaking hands and lifted it upside down, placing the tip over his brother's heart. "...D-don't make me do this, brother," Varin said, his words stuttering as he swallowed harshly. "Don't make me a kin killer for real this time."
"We aren't kin anymore," Leif said with a soft smile. "We haven't been for a long time, Varin. I'm so happy you found a better family. I hope my own daughter can follow in your footsteps. Family-wise, I mean." Varin's hands shook harder. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. "Listen to me," Leif continued. "Your crew is waiting," Leif said. "Your captain. Your friends. They need you. And I need to know that you're going to go back to them. That you're going to live better than any of us ever did."
"Leif..." Varin whispered.
"Do it," Leif said simply. "Make it count. Make it honorable. Make it mean something."
Varin closed his eyes. He took a breath. And then he pushed down.
The blade slid through muscle and bone and pierced the heart beneath. Leif made a small sound, almost like relief. His silver eyes, so identical to Varin's own, stayed open for just a moment longer.
"Til Valhöll," Leif breathed. "To Valhalla, brother." And then he was gone, like everything beforehand had never happened.
The blade clattered to the stone as Varin's hands finally gave out. He sank to his knees beside his brother's body. His clothes, the parts not torn or dyed red with blood and sweat, were slowly growing damp. Freyida latched onto her father's corpse, her sobs filling the broken arena.
And Varin's own. Tears were running down his face as he stared into his brother's smiling face. "Why?" Varin whispered. "Why?"
The word was quiet. Almost inaudible over Freyida's crying. Then something shifted inside him. The shock gave way to something rawer. Something that needed an outlet.
Varin raised his fist. He brought it down against the stone platform with all the force he could generate. The impact cracked the rock, a web of fractures spreading outward from where his knuckles connected. "WHY!"
Again. He hit it again, not caring that his hand was already bleeding, not caring that the pain was white-hot and immediate. He just needed something to break other than himself. "Bloody Idiot!" he screamed.
The stone gave way under his assault. His third punch shattered a section of the platform entirely, leaving a jagged hole. His fourth. His fifth. He kept hitting until his hand was mangled and his breathing came in ragged gasps, until the anger had burned itself out and left only exhaustion in its wake. "Fucking moron!"
He fell back on his heels, chest heaving. The rock wasn't enough; he needed more. Varin stood up slowly, swaying slightly. His hand was destroyed, his entire body screaming with exhaustion and pain, but it wasn't enough to burn away what was sitting in his chest.
"Spandam," he said flatly. "That's the name of the bastard that runs this place, right?"
One of the Marines nodded reluctantly.
Varin looked down at Leif's body one more time. "Where exactly is his office?" Varin asked the Marine who'd spoken before.
"Top of the castle dead center, where the big window was," the Marine said. He clearly didn't want to share that information, but also knew that if he didn't, Varin would take his anger out on him and his comrade. Before moving to find spamdam anyway. "There's a stairwell at the end of the main corridor. It'll take you straight up."
Varin nodded. He didn't bother asking anything else. He just started walking, leaving behind the ruins of the arena and the body of his brother and a small girl who'd just watched her world collapse.
"Top of the castle dead center, where the big window was," the Marine said. He clearly didn't want to share that information, but he also knew that if he didn't, Varin would take his anger out on him and his comrade. "There's a stairwell at the end of the main corridor. It'll take you straight up."
Varin nodded. He didn't bother asking anything else. He just started walking, leaving behind the ruins of the arena and the body of his brother and a small girl who'd just watched her world collapse.
His tears had stopped before he even reached the stairs, though they wanted to come. He moved up, and up, and up. The Marines who'd been positioned to guard the lower levels saw him coming and simply stepped aside. They didn't try to stop him. They didn't try to fight. They just moved out of his way and let him pass.
It was only then that Varin realized what had happened. Leif had planned this entire thing. Every detail of the holmgang, every condition, every moment, had all been orchestrated so that Varin would end up exactly where he needed to be. Leif had known that a victory in the duel would make Varin's departure legal under family law. That the Marines wouldn't try to stop him once the holmgang was concluded.
His brother had cleared a path for him.
The stairwell seemed to go on forever. His legs burned with exhaustion, his entire body screaming for rest, but Varin kept moving. Higher and higher until the sounds of battle below became distant and muffled. Until the stone of the fortress gave way to wooden flooring and windows that looked out onto the chaos below.
When he finally reached the top, there was a single door. Large, heavy, and ornate in a way that screamed importance and authority.
Varin kicked it open, and Spandam's office was exactly what Varin expected, all grandeur and false importance. High ceilings. Large windows that did indeed dominate the center of the room, showing a view of the fortress under assault below. And in the middle of it all, Spandam stood behind a desk, his face flushed with anger as he barked orders into a Den Den Mushi.
He also noticed that Robin was there too. She was bruised and dirty, her clothes torn, her hair disheveled. The seastone cuffs were still on her wrists, restraining her Devil Fruit powers. But her eyes, her eyes snapped to Varin the moment he entered, and he saw the exact moment she understood what his presence meant.
She realized what had happened. Realized that if Varin was here, standing alone and covered in blood, then Leif was dead.
Spandam turned, his expression shifting from anger to shock to something that resembled fear as he took in the sight of Varin standing in his doorway. The wolf-man was naked, covered in wounds and blood, his silver eyes completely black with something that went beyond anger.
"Y-you!" Spandam stammered. "You should be—Leif should have—"
"Robin, out," Varin said. His voice was colder than Aokiji's ice. It was clear that if she didn't comply, he would make her, friend or not.
Robin understood immediately. She looked at Spandam, then at Varin, and then she moved. The seastone cuffs were still on her wrists, but she walked toward the door with the kind of calm that only came from someone who'd seen enough death and violence to recognize it when it was standing in a doorway.
She paused beside Varin for just a moment. "Leif?" she asked quietly.
Varin didn't answer, and Robin's expression shifted to understanding. She nodded once and continued past him, out the door and into the corridor beyond.
Spandam watched her leave, his face going pale as he realized what was happening. "Wait—you can't—I'm a commander of Cipher Pol! You can't—"
Varin closed the door, and the office was suddenly very quiet. Just the sound of the fortress shaking from the assault below, the distant sounds of battle, and the wind whistling through that big window that dominated the center of the room.
Varin looked at Spandam. At the man who'd ordered the execution. Who'd tried to kill him at the rampart. Who'd captured him, beat Robin, and made him kill his brother.
"You know what your problem is?" Varin said quietly, walking further into the office. "You never understood what you were dealing with. You thought you could play games with people like my brother. With people like me. You thought this fortress was your kingdom and that you could do whatever you wanted inside these walls."
Varin stood in front of Spamdam now, the man hiding behind his desk, clutching something Varin couldn't see in his hand. "I'm going to kill you," Varin said softly. "Very. Very painfully. And I'm going to make an example out of you. A very red one."
Varin stepped forward, his movement fluid and predatory. He reached out, his claws sinking into Spandam's shoulders with a sickening, wet sound. Spandam let out a strangled shriek, his body jerking violently, but the grip was absolute.
Slowly, with a methodical patience that felt like a ritual, Varin began to work the claws through the muscle and connective tissue of the back, carving deep, precise lines into Spandam's torso, pulling the skin and meat back like a wrapper. He lifted Spandam's ribs away from his spine, one by one, snapping the cartilage with a rhythmic *pop-pop-pop* that echoed through the silent office. Spandam's screams became a wet gargle, his eyes bulging as he felt his own anatomy being rearranged.
Varin worked with the focus of a master craftsman, ignoring the frantic, splashing sounds of blood hitting the mahogany surface. He didn't rush. He wanted Spandam to feel the precise moment the structural integrity of his torso failed. With a final, guttural heave, Varin peeled the ribs further outward, splaying them wide like the wings of a great, visceral bird. The sound was a wet tear, similar to heavy canvas ripping. Spandam's scream had long since devolved into a rhythmic, pathetic wheeze, his lungs struggling to inflate against the sudden, cold openness of his chest.
The man was still conscious, his eyes darting wildly, trapped in a body that had become a grotesque sculpture. He was pinned against the leather of the chair, his arms uselessly flailing at his sides. Varin stepped back to admire the symmetry of the work, his claws dripping a thick, dark crimson that stained the white carpet in expanding floral patterns. The "red example" was now complete, a visceral tableau of agony and precision that turned the sterile office into a slaughterhouse.
Even in this state, Spandam's fingers were still twitching, locked in a death grip around the object he had been hiding. His hand, trembling with the last remnants of his strength, clutched a small, ornate golden snail. It was a piece of technology that looked more like a toy than a weapon of war, its polished shell shimmering under the harsh office lights. Varin leaned in, his expression one of mild curiosity, wondering if the man intended to use it as a shield or a final, desperate prayer.
With a sudden, spasmodic jerk of his wrist, Spandam squeezed. The golden snail emitted a sharp, piercing chime that cut through the wet silence of the room. A small, muffled voice emerged from the shell, confirming the coordinates and the identity of the caller. It was a signal of absolute desperation, a summons that bypassed all bureaucracy and went straight to the highest authority of the Navy.
The Buster Call had been triggered. Spandam's face shifted from terror to something resembling triumph. "You see?" he rasped. "You see? You can't kill me now. The Navy will burn this entire fortress down. They'll destroy everything and everyone in it. Including your precious crew. Including—"
Varin grabbed Spandam by the throat and lifted him off the ground with one hand. The man flailed, his feet kicking uselessly. Varin turned toward the large window that dominated the center of the office, the window that looked out over the entire fortress.
There was a Marine flag hanging there, attached to a pole that was mounted to the window frame. The Navy's colors. Blue and white. A symbol of everything Spandam claimed to serve.
Varin pulled the flag down.
He wrapped it around Spandam's neck. The fabric was strong, reinforced. It would hold.
"You wanted to play games with the Styrnvalds," Varin said quietly. "You wanted to test us. To see what we were made of."
He tied the flag securely.
"This is what we're made of."
Varin pushed Spandam through the window.
The man's scream was cut short as the flag reached its full length. His body hung there, suspended outside the office, the Marine colors fluttering around him. Below, the fortress was beginning to shake more violently. Explosions echoed from multiple locations.
Varin stood at the window and watched as Spandam's body swung slowly in the wind, the flag that represented everything he'd ever served now the instrument of his death. The irony was almost poetic. The fortress was going to burn. Everyone in it was going to die. The Marines would see to that.
But Spandam would die first.
And he would die hanging from the colors of the very organization he'd spent his life serving.