141 Thatch enraged (2/2)

Thus, the worry he felt in the moment, was a rarity for him. The man that he had adventured back-to-back with, could possibly be in danger!

With a swift and silent roar he jumped out, his nerves stretched taut as he prepared to spring. At any moment he prepared himself to see Marco's bloody body, hanging loosely from a tree or barely holding on against the assault from a shadowy figure. What he saw however, made him stall.

In front of him, he could see two figures fighting. Or rather, one figure pummeling the other into the ground.

Jagged Dagger stood over his enemy vindictively, an air of bloodlust around the young man as he stared into the eyes of the terrified marine. The man that was considered a leader amongst the rising stars of the navy groveled beneath the young pirate, gashes all over his body and blood flowing as rampantly as a particularly zealous stream.

Lorean held a obsidian dagger in his hands, drops of blood falling from its curved surface as he advanced. And when the Vice Admiral twisted to beam away, he disappeared with a single crack appearing before the horrified soldier.

”[Shunpo]” he leered as he neared the marine.

Terrick breathed easy as he looked around the clearing, the worry that was clouding his mind began to clear, and as he faced Marco's piercing glare he could not help but blush. He had abandoned his responsibility to run into the thick of things that he was ordered explicitly to avoid.

But as he shifted his eyes away from Marco's impassive face he could not help but wince at the spread eagle form of Terrick, broken hands and blood slowly leaving his body.

As he shifted his eyes further however, he could not help but freeze. The worry that had drained out of his mind appeared again in full.

With purposeful steps he walked towards Sorren's prone body. With deliberate steps he kneeled down, and amidst Marco's questioning glance he flipped the child's body over.

With horror on his face he recoiled, true blood caked the child's face as a pained expression sat on his face. But there was no doubting it. That face, that nose it was HIS.

The boy that he thought had died in a terrible storm, the child that he had carried when he was but an infant, the child that had called him father.

At this point the worry had left Thatch's mind, there was only cold dark fury.

With slow steps he rose to his feet, with his eyes never leaving the frowning face of his son.

”BORSOLINO!” He roared out loud, his voice appearing twisted and deranged as he pulled out his sword.

Lorean started, shifting to look at Thatch's positively writhing face. Then he looked behind Thatch at the child. Realization dawned on the newbie captain as he leapt out of the way of the rampaging Whitebeard.

And where once Borsolino danced, now he twisted in a faint mockery of escapism.