Raya's POV

Quite obviously, I am not, in fact, the strongest member of the Straw Hats crew. I've said that before, have never claimed to be anything other than what I am: support for the real warriors. So it stands to reason that my role in this impending fight would not be the glorious bout of heroism you'd find in a young girl's fantasies (in other words, not me).

Still, I think this is going a bit too far.

I'll give credit where credit is due. It's a brilliant plan. Deserving of having its praises sung on high, possible from atop the highest point of an obscure mountain range. Something fancy and convoluted like that.

Well, just to let you all in on a little secret - I'm lying through my teeth right now.

"Damn Nami, damn the Swordsman, damn, damn, dammit!"

I twist sharply mid-air, thrusting my feet outward, uncurling my knees from their cramped position against my chest, the soles of my boots connecting just shy of painfully with the lopsided wall; I shove off in the next second, the scorch marks fanning out across the stone the only memory of my brief landing as my flames propel downwards, narrowly saving me from the behemoth wolf man who's been on my tail since this outrageous fight began.

Tumbling through the ferocity-charged air, I tuck into a ball that has me rolling across the battlefield and onto my back - just in time kick out with both flaming feet and catch Jabra's compact chest. His claws halt mere inches from the supple, clammy skin of my throat. With a guttural growl more deserving of his Devil Fruit than mine, I'm able to fling him off me and scrabble to my feet, fists raised to my chest as a futile deterrent.

"Getting tired already, Aka?"

I flash a disastrously irritable scowl over my shoulder, momentarily forgetting the imminent threat of a hulking wolf-man only ten feet away from me. My slitted eyes follow Zoro's oddly graceful movements as he whirls - akin to a serrated spinning top let loose from frenzied fingers - his swords sailing harmlessly past Kaku's elongated neck, tilted expertly to avoid the fatal blow.

"Not likely," I snarl, simultaneously raising a blistering wall of fire to shield myself from Jabra's latest charge and aggressively ignoring the stinging pain rippling up my forearm. Despite the aching absence of Honoo's familiar weight in my palm, the connection she strung between herself and Wado still holds firm, and the ancient blade's wild lust for battle is nearly as crippling as his master's, tangible as it is in the throes of war. "I'm just a little pissed that I'm low enough on the totem pole to be considered bait!"

Even as Zoro parries a strike from Kaku's abominably blocky nose - forced into drawing Wado, much to the katana's exultation - he's laughing, an unfettered, unabashed sort of laughter that severely downplays the severity of the situation and the concern bubbling up within me as a shock wave of force washes over me, the result of Kaku and Zoro's collision.

Nami and Sogeking's commentary from the sidelines doesn't help matters.

"It made a hole in the rock! That nose is better than Sogepp's!"

"Who the heck is Sogepp?! And don't make unnecessary comparisons!"

Dancing back from Jabra's claws, my flames surging up around like an instinctive, animalistic defense measure (sorta like porcupines curling up into spiky, unappetizing balls - but more demonic), I manage to snap at them, "You know, you two could be helping!"

And they just smile and give little dismissive waves, content to be bystanders while Zoro and I risk our lives in pointless battles. The wily bastards.

I'm convinced the only reason I've even survived this long locked in combat with Jabra is because he quickly realized that his delightful Shigan has little to no effect on me when I've reigned in control of my Logia powers. Oh he tried, very early on, to skewer me like a cornered hog, but the impact point dissolved into scorching flames and he withdrew his index finger within nanoseconds of contact. A few admirable (laughable) trial later, and he'd been reasonable convinced of my intangibility. So he switched tactics, vamping up his speed until he's a foul-smelling furry blur that comes thisclose to catching me off-guard with every visible glint of claws and flash of bared fangs.

Let me tell you, I'd still take this adrenaline-inducing beast over Kalifa and her touchy-touchy grabby hands any day.

Zoro's troubles are no more than buzzing background noise, a nuisance to be shoved aside, and it physically pains me to do so, because Wado and Honoo both are insistent that he be the center of my attention. Which sucks. I've scraped through enough brawls to understand the importance of a precisely focused mind, and with these two pulling every which way at my thoughts, snagging my attention for fleeting, brittle moments, I'm as frazzled as they come.

And it's this that lets Jabra - finally - cuff his all too wolfish mitt across my cheek. No fire, no sparks - just white-hot agony as I'm hurtled gracelessly into a crumbling wall, my shoulders snapping back, digging into the rough stonework, scraping my skin raw as my back cracks and my head lolls, chin driving into my collarbone, teeth clacking together with immediate biting pain.

With awful slowness, my body peels free of the gripping wall, slumping down into a motionless, bloody heap.

Someone's shouting my name, though the voice is too garbled and indistinct to my vibrating mind to make out exactly who it is. Sounds feminine, so maybe Sogeking or Nami.

Pain ricochets throughout my limbs, zigzagging like an electrical current, hopping from atom to atom, muscle to muscle, bone to bone, filling me completely with a throbbing ache. Much worse than the headache I've been fighting, seemingly sharpened so finely that it grates against my naked nerves with sickening ease, leaving me bare to the whole lovely experience of scalding misery.

Goddammit, get up, get up, get up! Like a ritualistic chant, the words build up inside me, seeking to remedy the situation in some way, break the spell on my body and purge the pain from my system like you might flush out disease from your bloodstream. But I'm too tired, my exploits with Honoo catching up to me at possibly the worst time imaginable. I'd noticed before how I'd slowed, that my reaction time wasn't quite up to par, but it wasn't like I could tag out and rest up. As a member of the Straw Hats, I have a job to do, and that's to protect my nakama, even when that amounts to playing the decoy bunny to Jabra's puppy while the lion stalked its prey.

I shake my head, trying to bat away the encroaching fog mucking up my brain, but it's useless; the movement only has me releasing a low-toned groan and clutching at my temples as the world spins out beneath me, tilting at an ominous angle, like I'm about to go sliding off the edge of jagged-edged cliff. Not a comforting sensation by any means, and made infinitely worse by the absence of anything reassuringly solid to cling to besides my own battered flesh.

C'mon, you have to move. Do something. You're not tired, you're not hurt - you're needed. Zoro's out there, thinking he can trust you to keep Wolfy off his ass so he can take care of the big guns. Nami and Uso - Sogeking - who the hell ever, are screaming at you because something nasty is probably happening. Scratch that: definitely happening. Sounds like Sogeking's just been plucked up and tossed aside like spoiled meat. I suck in a tapered breath, barely filling my lungs with enough air for my chest to rise and fall, expand and deflate. Ugh. Luffy would probably still eat it, spoiled or not... Dammit, no. Stop getting off track and get your ass up!

Any other day, any other time, I could get up, walk away from this - but no, I'm spent, weighed down by a heavy fatigue that settles inside me like a ton of bricks. I'm not used to taking on multiple opponents in the span of a few hours, not highly skilled, battle-hardened World Government dogs like these guys. It's just not something I've had thrown my way before, even with the seemingly inexhaustible supply of baddies we've encountered in the months I've proudly claimed a position on this crew.

Still. My limp-noodle limbs and possible-concussion-rocked skull be damned. Flynn D. Raya does not allow her friends to suffer in her place, does not buckle just because she's taken a beating. I still have at least one ass-kicking left in me, and you better believe it has your name embroidered on it, Jabra! Or Kaku. Whoever I get my hands on first.

My heart thumping erratically, slamming into my rib-cage with every audible beat, sweat pooling in every nook and cranny, I brace my palms against the cool, indifferent stone beneath me, gather my clumsy legs under me, and push, catapulting to my feet. Wobbly, off-balance, feeling as though a fragile whisper could knock me onto my ass again, but upright. And that's enough for hope to reawaken, fluttering within my chest, dainty wings brushing their cage with every spasmodic flap. Like Pandora's box, except all the bad shit - the despair, the agony, the unbridled hatred of all things just and righteous - is still there, egging me on.

Right. I'm back in this.

Sort of.

Through bleary, crisscrossing eyes, I'm able to make out the sight of what appears to Sogeking dangling from the claw-tipped fingers of one Mr. Wolfy, his throat nearly caving in on itself from the crushing grip. There's Nami, frozen, her face masked with a horror I recognize all too well. Zoro's not too far off, eyes wide, jaw clenched around Wado's hilt; a man faced with the tragedy of an inability to offer his help, as Kaku's refused to let up on him.

But me? I'm right in the kill-zone.

The ringing in my ears subsides a moment; my vision clears, the world rights itself, everything before me honed with a clarity I attribute more to desperation than the adrenaline I've so wished to rid myself of at this point. Sure, it's fun for a while, gives you a good ol' boost that may very well save your ass, but it tends to lose its appeal early on, especially when it begins to seep into your judgment, influencing just what you deem to be important and trivial. In this case, deciding that Kaku is more of a threat than Jabra, simply because he's yet to halt his assault.

I'm forcing my exhausted feet forward just as Jabra cackles, "Now die!!"

"Shit," I hiss, watching helplessly as Jabra's fangs slide mercilessly into Sogeking's - nothing, actually. Because before he's able to even close his massive jaw around the sniper king's throat, his gruesome snout is being whipped back by a leather-clad foot and the bulk of his girth slams bodily into the wall not too far from where there's a bloody outline of yours truly. Leaving Sogeking relatively unharmed and subjected to the stubborn care and attention of our lovely navigator.

Jabra recovers rather (annoyingly) quickly, raising his head, speaking past the dribble of viscous crimson that splatters starbursts of blood over the space between his feet. "Who the hell are you?!"

My face splits into quite the earnest grin, despite the stinging feedback offered by the heartily bleeding slash marks marring my right cheek, because it's the second time Sanji has come to my rescue in such a fashion, and I am no less happy to see him this time round.

Bloody, bruised, and colored with the shame of his earlier defeat, Sanji is still every bit as menacing as Zoro in all his savage glory as he flicks the ash from his cigarette and, smirking like the goddamn badass he is, says, "The Hunter."

I draw in a slow breath, exhaling with the same deliberate languidness, swiping away the droplets of blood that have oozed over my upper lip, my free hand curling around Honoo's hilt. I feel like our chances for success has just gone up a few notches.

Let the blood-bath continue!

_____________________

I don't know what to say about this chapter, except that it's long overdue and lacking in its usual quality. For that, I apologize; my writing's been irking me for months now, sometimes good, sometimes excruciatingly horrendous - and I feel like this chapter is somewhere in between. But I hope you enjoyed it, at least a little, and are eager as I am for the continuation of Raya's story!