One Piece: Madness of Regret-Chapter 62: The girl with red hair(25)

I looked at every single one of those fucking bastards.

Breathing. Trembling. Still alive.

They had already gotten the message—I'd carved it into flesh and bone. But I knew them. Scum like that don't remember fear forever. Given time, the lesson would fade. Their sickness would resurface. They'd start looking at her again. Even dead, they'd see her as something to take. Something to mark. Something to ruin.

I couldn't allow that.

She had already been stripped of everything. Her voice. Her safety. Her breath. Even in death, she wasn't allowed peace. They circled like jackals, eyes twitching, breath heavy, waiting for a moment of weakness in me. Waiting to turn back into animals.

She needed to rest.

Truly rest.

With the respect they'd refused to give her in life.

I turned toward the group and stepped forward. They recoiled, as they should. My hands were still soaked in the blood of their brother. I pointed at them, then at their clothes.

"Clothes," I growled. "NOW."

They didn't speak. Didn't argue. Just stripped. Tossed the fabric in a pile like frightened children. I took the pieces without a word, barely sparing them a glance. They weren't men. They were shadows. Vermin. And vermin don't deserve the sound of my voice.

I turned my back on them and walked to her.

Slowly. Kneeling beside her like I was kneeling at an altar. Because that's what it felt like. Sacred. Quiet.

I set the clothes aside and began.

There were shards of glass embedded in her skin—tiny slivers of torment left behind by whatever cruelty they'd used to hold her down, tear her up, and break her. I pulled them out, one by one. My hands didn't shake. I gave her that much. A steady hand. A calm presence.

Each shard pulled felt like I was taking something from her that didn't belong. Clearing her body of their poison.

Then I saw the largest piece.

Lodged in her chest. Deep. Clear and jagged, like it had wanted to reach her heart but didn't quite get there.

I stared at it for a second.

Then took a breath. Not to steel myself—but to honor her.

I reached in and pulled it out.

Her body barely reacted. There wasn't enough blood left to bleed.

Still, I took one of the cleaner cloths and wiped the wound gently. Dabbed it, pressed the fabric until the blood stopped pooling. I cleaned around her cuts, her bruises, every mark of what they did.

No more grime. No more filth.

Just her.

When she was clean—clean as I could make her—I clothed her. The fabric was too large, meant for bloated men twice her size. But I wrapped it around her carefully, tucking it in where I could, adjusting sleeves to cover the bruises on her arms, folding the sides to protect what little modesty she had left.

Even in death, she deserved dignity.

And I gave it to her—because they never would. Because they stripped her of it while she breathed, and they would've taken what was left in her silence too. She wasn't some symbol. She wasn't a martyr. She was a girl.

A human being.

And they treated her like a thing. A toy. A corpse to leer at.

I stared at the body now clothed in pirate fabric—her final resting shroud stolen from the monsters who wronged her. It was fitting.

They would never wear those clothes again.

But she could rest in them.

She looked small. Still. Almost peaceful now.

I reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face.

"You're not theirs," I whispered. "Not anymore."

Then I stood.

And faced the crew again.

Rage still burned in me, hotter than before. Not just for what they did—but for what they tried to erase. Her name. Her story. Her humanity.

But I remembered.

And I would make sure the world remembered too.

One body at a time, if I had to.

I gazed at every single one of these fucking bastards.

Faces pale. Eyes twitching. Some too afraid to meet my stare, others too stupid to look away. Filth, the lot of them. Breathing like they'd just survived something. But I wasn't done. Not yet. Not even close.

I couldn't bring the other girls out until I was sure.

Until I was certain these animals wouldn't take one look at her and forget everything I'd just carved into their memory.

Fear alone? It fades.

Pain speaks louder.

So I gave them something they couldn't ignore.

I grabbed what was left of the man who suffered the ritual. His back was flayed open, ribcage split, lungs barely holding form. He was meat now. Nothing more. But he still had a purpose—just one.

A warning.

I dragged his ruined body through the dirt, through his own blood. He left a trail behind like a cursed slug, arms flopping uselessly, his exposed back leaking red across the deck. Some of the pirates turned away. Few threw up. Good.

I positioned him carefully. Deliberately.

I flipped him so that his destroyed back faced them—bones cracked wide like broken wings, meat stretched open to the sky. His face, shattered and twisted, faced her. His dead, lifeless eyes were locked on the girl he'd helped destroy.

Let him stare. Let him see who he tried to unmake.

Even in death, he'd be forced to acknowledge what he'd done.

She would not be forgotten.

And neither would he.

Then I walked across the deck, slow and unflinching, to the pile where I'd tossed what was left of his skull and the heart still faintly twitching inside it. Like the body refused to die all at once. Like it wanted to suffer just a little longer.

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I picked it up—blood dripping between my fingers, the heart beating in slow, dying pulses against bone—and carried it across the deck.

The crew stepped back. No one dared breathe.

I placed the skull and heart down on the other side of the body. A grotesque totem. The mind and soul torn out and put on display. His body now a grotesque compass—facing the girl in death, while his back screamed a silent threat to every bastard still breathing.

This was no longer just about vengeance.

This was control.

This was power.

This was law.

Break it, and this would happen again.

No hesitation. No mercy. No second warning.

I turned to face them.

I scanned each of their face.

No one moved. No one dared.

Good.

"I will bring the other girls." I whispered "Just wait."

Wait with honor. I will claim it back for you with death.