Heaven Has No Limit Chapter 11 - Rent Free

Dying women make for the best pity-fucks.

After the lessons, Noah had been shown where he’d be staying while he was in the Germa Kingdom. Judge had spared no expense, either because he’d been told ahead of time the level of ‘fuck-you, I’ve got money’ splendor a Celestial Dragon was used to, or the man simply had good fucking taste. Rather than a single room, an entire Wing of the Germa Kingdom’s Castle had been given to him to do with as he wished.

Noah was currently in the Master Bedroom of his Private Wing, a place Judge had stocked full with as much entertainment and convenience as possible. A long line of servants was stationed right outside the door to serve food to him whenever and at whatever time he desired it. There was also a Den-Den Mushi that connected directly to the kitchen, so they could contact the chef to make whatever the fuck he wanted to eat instantly. There was a door that led to a private bathhouse, possessing maids ready and willing to wash him as soon as he demanded it. 

There was also a special direct Den-Den Mushi that connected to Judge, in case he needed something from the man. 

The Master Bedroom was large as fuck, thus, there was plenty of room for a small stage to be provided within it. On that stage, exotic Alabastan belly dancers clapped their hands and shook their hips, their tanned desert skin and pierced belly buttons all on display for his pleasure.

Noah watched it all from a King-Sized Bed, where he lay with his head on Hancock’s lap.  The Kuja, in her maid outfit, blushed up a storm as she fed him grapes from a tray placed beside her.

Noah’s attention wasn’t on the belly dancers, however, nor was it on the others, waiting outside their turn for performance, nor was it on the food, the meals, and the full comforts one could only expect of royalty.

Though the Alabastan dancers weren’t bad, they weren’t Hancock. The best amongst them was at least a five, and considering they were maskfishing with the thin silk veils on their faces, they fucking knew it. Maybe they’d been punched too many times in the face, but it was clear that the best parts of their bodies were their skinny waists and shaking hips.

Music that wouldn’t be out of place on a Disney Aladdin soundtrack was performed live by a group of musicians that accompanied the belly-dancers. Heavy on the flutes and the singing, their outfits almost made him think they were about to break out into song and dance like this was fucking Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham.

Noah’s attention, in between chewing on his grapes and snickering at Hancock’s blushing face, was focused on his Observation Haki. It was working on full blast, constantly scanning the entirety of the Germa Kingdom, searching for threats, dangers, or anything remotely interesting of note. 

…There’s a rat, huh?

Noah had sensed a little rat sniffing around, but he was going to act as if he hadn’t found him. Especially because if the rat was who he believed it was, it’d make things more interesting. 

With his Haki, he’d also sensed her.

The Queen Consort of the Germa Kingdom, Vinsmoke Sora, was in her bedroom doing her best impression of John Wick’s wife and Eren Yeager’s mother.

Sucks to fucking suck.

“Uwu… D-do you want more grapes, Saint?”

Hancock plucked another grape from her mouth, rolled it in her tongue, and fed it to him, and Noah chewed softly, humming as his senses honed in on Vinsmoke Sora. In what Noah would term Haki Vision, he was able to get a full, complete dissection of the shape of her soul, and from that, the shape of her body. 

He was surprised she didn’t have a ponytail to accompany her pale, sick, dying ass. The Dead-Mom Ponytail was such a signature hallmark that Noah could have sworn she’d be rocking it, especially given how she currently had a foot out the door. From what Noah gathered, nobody was going to be holding her picture while rolling in bed, fondly recalling the time she was laughing and smiling under the covers.

From his chambers, Noah could sense it. There was no doubt in his mind. 

Bitch isn’t making it past the next month.

A person’s lifeforce was a tangible thing in Pirate Fantasy Shonen Land. The iconic shot of Donut-Boy’s vivre card being burned away could only exist because life force was a thing that could be quantified and sensed. If Vinsmoke Sora had a vivre card, Noah was certain that right now, it’d be a dwindling, tiny, fingernail-sized corner, as if someone had ripped off the edge of a one-dollar bill.

Noah originally thought he could get one last ‘hurrah’ out of Sora before she kicked the bucket. It’d be the funniest shit ever to tell Sanji, he’d done his mom. There would be no shortage of your mom jokes he could fire, that’d be an absolute ratio on the Goon Chef.  

However, as she was, there was no chance of that happening. She didn’t even have enough strength to eat her own damned meals, so there was no chance she’d be able to work her lips or hands. She’d probably outright snuff it if she got too worked up.

Could have sworn she had a few more good years in her… but guess not.

Noah did not know what he had changed that made it so Sanji’s mom was going to kick it earlier than before.

But Noah did not care. 

He’d already changed a ton just by offing Fisher Tiger, and he’d changed a shit more just by having Hancock on Team Noah. He was changing shit more and more with every action, and just making contact with Vinsmoke Judge and spitballing his ideas would continue to change more and more and more shit, creating an avalanche of changes. 

Noah lived for that shit.

The more shit he changed, the wilder the board became. Destiny became a no-man’s game, and relying on fucking chance, or Will of D, or whatever inherited will bullshit, long-con game being played by dead fucks from centuries ago would become harder and harder. These buffoons would be playing checkers, while Noah was playing Texas Hold' Em. 

When the fools caught up and started to play poker, Noah would be pulling out fucking Monopoly.

The wilder the board became, the crazier the changes, the less his future knowledge became, but that was one of the reasons Noah had gone out of his way to train his Observation Haki.

A person’s Haki could keep on growing as they aged, becoming stronger and stronger. Having unlocked the advanced version of Observation Haki at his current age, it would only get more powerful as time passed.

No matter what changes came his way, he’d never be blindsided.

He’d be fucking ready.

“Saint Noah.”

Guernika entered the Master Bedroom, moving quietly to bow on one knee. Noah sat up, raising a hand to halt Hancock’s feeding of grapes. The music blaring would have obscured his words for most, but Noah’s ears were good enough to mute out the unnecessary noise. 

“I’ve made the inquiry, Saint. Caesar Clown is currently located on Marine Base G-3 on the Grand Line. He appears to be assigned to Research and Development, working on chemical weapons.”

Noah clicked his tongue. Figures… so he’s still under the Marines at this point, huh?

It started after Noah had a momentary spark of genius and thought about the benefits of engineering viruses and advancing biological warfare in a world without Geneva Conventions. There was no Center for Disease Control in this world that’d tell him, “Noooo, don’t make viruses, Noah! Don’t do it!”

The only problem was, it turned out, even in Shonen Pirate Fantasy Land, cooking up corona-lite took skill. Rather, what took skill was cooking it up without screwing yourself in the process and creating something that would not only wipe out your enemies, but you, your grandma, and your dog and cat, too.

“Please forgive me, Saint,” Judge had told him. “I can clone a gene of interest into a viral backbone, and remove the pathogenic components, thus allowing the virus’s natural infection machinery to spread unhindered… but… it would be difficult, working alone, to ensure proper implementations of safeguards that control such a spread, or means to immunize myself or others to it. I would need another expert in the field to provide assistance…”

Surprise-fucking-surprise, there were only a handful of others Vinsmoke Judge begrudgingly considered ‘experts.’ 

“Saint, do you wish for me to retrieve him? I can—”

“Nah.” 

Caesar’s a fucking snake. Knowing where he’s holed up is one thing, but… 

Noah clicked his tongue. “Can’t use a guy like him.”

He’s got nothing to lose but his life… which isn’t worth shit.

Caesar had no family, he had no friends, he had no allies. He was not like Vinsmoke Judge, a man whom Noah could hold by the balls if need be, because there were lots of things he stood to lose if he fucked up. His Kingdom, his family, his name, his prestige… All those things were part of the reasons Noah had gone for Judge, especially due to his ambitions.

Someone like Caesar could only be controlled with pure fear, the way Flamingo-Man controlled him. However, in Noah’s eyes, it wasn’t enough. Caesar had been scared shitless of Doflamingo and Big Slut, but it didn’t stop him from being a fuck-up who lied to them both while pursuing his own agenda, blowing the funding he was given.

“However, Saint,” Vinsmoke Judge had told him. “My daughter, Reiju, could also serve as an assistant. Her genetic modifications ensure a stronger disease resistance, and with your tutelage, I do not doubt she will be capable of understanding and properly following your instructions to the letter…”

Noah wanted to smack the damned fool on the side of the head. The fuck you think I am? Judge had an incredibly wild estimation of his capabilities. Noah didn’t know the first thing about making viruses, because no sane institution in a First World Country would ever think about giving students the ability to start pandemics in between lunch and gym class.

“I understand, Saint,” Guernika nodded. “There is another rather genius scientist who was also acquainted with Vinsmoke Judge. Dr. Vega—”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

“Saint…?”

Noah would absolutely never go anywhere near Loserpunk.

Smartest man in the world?

Noah pinched the bridge of his nose. “Vegapunk’s a fucking moron. Never bring him up in front of me again.”

The smartest man in the fucking world is just an Einstein-wannabe who relied on a fruit to get big-brained.

If Vegapunk was on fire, Noah wouldn’t piss on him to put it out. The tongue-sticking-out fuck was the sort of man who’d build anything so long as he was given funding, which, on paper, made him a prime candidate for Noah to contact. 

However, in reality, Vegapunk was the absolute worst person to choose, because he was the sort of bleeding heart who’d betray his sponsor and give the highest possible security clearance of the world’s deadliest military weapons to a fucking brat. 

How it never even occurred to him how many ways that shit could be abused outright altered Noah’s brain chemistry. It altered his brain chemistry so badly that Noah was certain he’d lost a few IQ points just thinking about all the ways Loserpunk was stupid.

The fact that someone like fucking Mr. 2 Bon Clay could simply touch Bonney’s face and gain absolute control of every single Kuma Pacifista made his brain melt.

The fact that someone like fucking Charlotte Brûlée could create a mirror image of Bonney and thus order the World Government’s military weapons made his brain melt.

The fact that Catarina Devon, with her Mythical Zoan, could turn into Bonney, and thus give control of the Pacifista to the Blackbeard Pirates made his brain melt.

Even if Vegapunk used the excuse that he didn’t know about the capabilities of people who could disguise themselves as other people with the aid of their Devil Fruits, Vegapunk knew about cloning. The fact that anyone could clone Bonney, implement controls on the clone, and use that clone to command the Pacifista—

Made. His. Brain. Melt.

Noah almost hoped he’d not changed enough to ensure that Loserpunk was stupid enough to do that again. He would absolutely make the world’s smartest idiot regret it. However, knowing his luck, Noah doubted things would go that way any longer. Just by being born in the Jaygarcia Family and interacting with the Old Geezer, he’d probably already guaranteed that things would not play out the same way. 

Noah wasn’t even going to get into the man’s other dumbass decisions. He could see no more than two dozen problems with the way Vegapunk handled the York situation, and he wasn’t fucking Megamind. He wasn’t some creepy, index-finger-glasses-adjusting, all according to keikaku tactical genius. He wasn’t Ding Liren, Hikaru Nakamura, or Magnus fucking Carlsen, seeing twenty moves ahead at all times.

Yet even Noah could tell that erasing your fucking memory as a step in a plan to catch a traitor was outright retard-coded.

When the smartest man in the world couldn’t see from the fucking top of the world the problems that Noah could see sitting his ass down on a toilet, then that man’s smarts weren’t worth shit.

Noah was worried he might lose some brain cells interacting with that man.

Make it make fucking sense.

“I… see, Saint,” Guernika slowly nodded. “There are a large number of options of the World Government’s brightest scientists who—”

“No, I’ve got a person in mind already.”

Noah cut him off.

“There’s an old woman on an Island in East Blue. Drum Island… Sakura Kingdom. Or… was it Drum Kingdom? Whatever. She’s a Doctor. The locals might call her a fucking witch. Her name is Kureha.”

Noah snapped his fingers. 

“Find her, put a collar around her neck, and bring her here.”

Guernika lifted his head. “An old woman in… East Blue…?” Guernika nodded. “As you command, Saint,” Guernika rose to his feet. “The trip to East Blue may take some time—”

Noah snorted. “I’m not going anywhere. The Germa Kingdom isn’t too bad as a vacation spot. They’ve even got quality entertainment.”  

Noah gestured to the Alabastan belly dancers. 

“For your protection—” Guernika started, and Noah lifted a brow. As if remembering just who the fuck he was talking to, Guernika cleared his throat. “...I will depart at once.”

Smart man, Noah snorted. Do you really think there’s anyone in a sea this fucking weak that can be a threat to me?

Guernika exited the room, and Noah leaned back down on the bed. “Hancock. More grapes. And you lot!”

The Alabastan dancers all trembled. 

“Take off your tops! Let me see them fuckin’ tiddies!”

=====)+(=====

Within the Germa Kingdom, there was a man swimming in concrete.

Not liquid concrete, but solid, hard, concrete. The concrete disobeyed the laws of physics, spat in common sense and reality, becoming liquid in lieu of the man’s breast strokes, only to return to solid once again as he passed through.

The man swimming in concrete lay concealed at the docks of the Germa Kingdom, watching quietly and keenly as a man in all white, a member of CP0, boarded a ship that had arrived earlier in the day, awakening its crew and barking orders.

“We’re setting sail immediately for East Blue.”

“Setting sail? East…? The Saint is leaving already?”

“Don’t ask unnecessary questions if you value your life.”

“Y-y-yes!”

In the dead and quiet of night, the man swimming in concrete watched as the ship that had sailed into the port with the flag of the World Government, quietly sailed away in the dark, going further and further from the Germa Kingdom, until it vanished over the horizon.

He waited there, watching for hours, until the sun slowly began to rise, and there was no sign, no clue, nor any indication that the ship was returning, or that the ship was nearby.

The man sank into the ground, diving under layers of stone, foundations, and bedrock, until he arrived at the location of a derelict, underground chamber. Its sole entry point was buried by rubble, and its access was completely barred to any who did not have the means to move through solid objects.

Popping out of the ground, the man emerged, ending his ‘swim.’ His attire had not the tiniest trace of dirt or dust on it, nor any liquid or water on it. The ground under his feet, which, moments ago, had been liquid, returned to hard, solid, compacted earth.

Taking a deep breath, the man lit a cigarette, inhaled, then exhaled, before he reached for a Den-Den Mushi, one wearing a set of curved sunglasses.

“Purupurupurupuru.”

“Purupurupurupuru.”

“Purupurupurupuru… click!”

“Spider Miles Steelworks,” a cheerful voice, that of a young girl, came on the other end. “Hello! How can we help you?”

“I’m looking for a new lover, baby girl,” the man said. “Someone who understands there are no strings attached.”

There was a pause. On the other end, there was a sound of motion and movement, as though someone was sprinting.

“You have reached Joker.”

“Young Master, it’s me!” 

“Pink?”

“Yes, Young Master. I have something urgent to report.”

“Were you able to find out why Tsuru was making repeated trips to the Germa Kingdom?”

“Yes, Young Master. She was making a series of deliveries. But that’s not what’s urgent. Young Master, regarding those rumors about her… they’re true.”

“...She’s in an affair with Vinsmoke Judge?”

“Ah, no. Not those. The other set of rumors.” 

The line on the other end went deathly quiet.

“There’s…” Señor Pink took a deep breath. “The… cause of those rumors… is currently in the Germa Kingdom as I speak.”

The silence stretched. Thick. Suffocating.

“Fufufufufu… hehehehehe… HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!”

The laugh that came on the other end was filled with both vitriol and amusement, with both incredulity and delectation.

“Speak. Do not leave out a single detail.”

=====)+(=====

Spider Miles was a Port Town in North Blue, where pirates seldom dared to tread. Marines, too, had little interest in it, as the town was considered by many as a junkyard, a place to find broken electronics, derelict waste, scrap metal, steel, and garbage. There were mounds of it, in places, such that it could be seen from the sea, giving the impression of hills and mountains on an otherwise flat, uneven terrain.

The town had no kings, and it had no queens. Rumor had it that there had once been a Mayor, but upon Gold Roger’s announcement of his treasure, the man, seeking wealth, fame, power, and fortune, had set off to the seas, not even bothering to assign or leave behind a successor to his position.

Spider Miles, thus, had, shortly after the Death of the Pirate King, suffered. Lawless and orderless, the factories and steelworks had shut down, fleeing the horde of incoming pirates who would stop there on their way to the Grand Line.

It was in this place, this town, that there existed a “Family.”

A building, a hideout, located behind a once derelict steel waste processing factory, bearing a flag, a Jolly Roger, of a smiley-face with a single, diagonal cross running through it. 

Within that building, there was, for the first time in years, an emergency convening of all members of the household. 

A “Family” had gathered.

The members sat around a table, their voices clamoring, going back and forth in a constant debate and discussion, while, at the very center, a terrifyingly tall blond man, towering at three-hundred-and-five centimeters, ten feet tall, sat on a chair, turned the wrong way around. Garbed in brightly colored clothes and wearing sunglasses with purple lenses, he had his hands steepled in silence.

“Behehehehe…. Behehehehe!” A hunchback, with snot dripping from his nostrils, laughed, his voice cutting across the room. “Digging into those rumors about Vice Admiral Tsuru ended up paying off, Doffy!” 

“Pikkya-pikkya-pikkyarara!” Another man, a large, burly man, whose voice was contradictorily high-pitched, laughed in unison. His voice, however, despite standing in contrast to his appearance, was not something anyone in the room would mock.  “The Young Master suspected something was wrong. He knew! It’s why he insisted we dive deeper into gaining as much information as possible! When we set sail for Grand Line, to control its Underworld, we’ll need to have control over all the information that’ll pass through it.”

“But…” A large woman, with a plump upper body and skinny legs, interjected. “Is the information correct?”

“There’s no doubt about it.”

A man wearing thick sunglasses indoors, with lightning-bolt-shaped sideburns, spoke. 

“Señor Pink said he saw the ship leave. The CP0 Agent was on board, but the Saint didn’t leave with him. Which means he’s still in the Germa Kingdom.”

“A Celestial Dragon child, far away from the Holy Land, here in North Blue, completely unprotected? Uhahahaha!” A brown haired man laughed. “It almost sounds too good to be true!” 

“This is a sign, Doffy!” the hunchback declared. “Fate is working to do all it can to support your rise! To ensure your ascent as the Pirate King! An opportunity like this… it has to be seized!” 

“He’ll be protected by the Germa Kingdom’s King,” The man with the sideburns spoke. “Vinsmoke Judge won’t let anything happen to him, or it’ll be his head.”

“Bah!” The hunchback with snot running down his nose scoffed. “The Vinsmokes are dead! They are a shadow of their former selves! There was a time the entirety of North Blue trembled at that name, a time when the Vinsmoke Empire spanned every inch of these seas, but that time is long gone. It is a new era! Judge cannot stop us!”

“But… but… but…” The portly woman was uneasy. “Are we truly going to consider it? If we do this, there’ll be no turning back. We’ll be enemies of the entire World Government—”

“Fool! Have you forgotten who we are? Who we serve?”

“N-no! I dare not—”

“Quiet.”

With a single word, a single command from the Master of the Household, the chattering and arguments ceased at once. The home became so deathly silent that everyone could almost hear their own heartbeat. The blond man at the center leaned his cheek on his fist and slowly tapped his index finger on the long, wooden table.

No one said a word, and no one amongst them made a sound. The Head of the Family slowly lifted his other hand to his face, rubbing it. A soft laugh spewed from his lips. “Fuffuffuffu… heh… hehehehehe…”

He slowly gripped the edge of the table.

“Years ago, you were with me as I took my father’s head and presented it at Mariejois. You were there, Trebol, when I asked them for an opportunity to be returned into the fold. Do you remember what happened?”

The Hunchback, the man known as Trebol, closed his eyes, lamenting and recalling that ordeal. His Young Master was still a boy of only ten years old then, a child then, and with the gun Trebol had placed into his hands, bestowed as a gift upon seeing that he was a child with the Qualities of a King, his Young Master had ended the life of the man responsible for his greatest torment and suffering.

With the man’s head in tow, they had sailed to the Grand Line, sailing, enduring threats and perils they were, at the time, seldom prepared for. They had almost starved, almost died, had resorted to pillaging, banditry, and thievery to survive that perilous trip. Many times, they stared death in the eyes, but time and again, they all pulled through. Trebol’s conviction, his belief that the boy he’d seen that day, cursing out the mob lynching him, was destined to be the King of Pirates, had only grown firmer as they sailed through those perils.

Yet, at the end of their journey, as they finally did make it to the so-called Holy Land, as they stood before those who claimed to be gods, they received a cruel blow. Those gods, their heads covered in bubbles, their manner of speaking odd and tilted, their members obese, riding on the backs of slaves, the results of their hard efforts, in the face of his Young Master’s dedication, drive, and ambition…

The hunchback closed his eyes. “Those blind fools… laughed.”

Veins bulged on the Young Master’s forehead.

“They laughed,” he repeated.  “They sneered. They mocked. They said I came from a family of traitors.”

The table cracked.

“I swore vengeance on them. On all of them.”

Veins bulged on his throat. The table crumbled. It was sliced into pieces.

“Our plans were to prepare for a few more years before re-entering the Grand Line… but you are right, Trebol. An opportunity like this doesn’t come twice.”

The room stirred. The words had varying reactions on the members of the family. Many, anticipatory, others, reverent, a few, completely and utterly enthralled and devoted.

“All of you, prepare yourselves. At dawn…”

The blond man rose to his feet, towering over almost all others in the room. His hands extended out and open, stretching them as though the world, the New Era, was all within his grasp.

“We sail for the Germa Kingdom.”