Raya's POV

Honoo's flaming tail gently brushes over my cheeks, evaporating any stray tears that have managed to leak out after her grand entrance. She then nudges me with a paw, prompting me to shake out my numb limbs and haul myself into a sitting position, the effects of Kalifa's disgusting "attack" wearing off with every tongue of flame Honoo licks over my body.

I never thought I would have the pleasure of saying this, but I am very glad my best friend is really a giant fiery tigress on the inside.

...C'mon. Who else can say that and not get shipped off to the nearest psych ward? I'm pretty damn awesome, you have to admit it.

And even if you don't want to, I'm just gonna shove it down your throat until you say Uncle.

Ahem. Getting back on track.

Hooking an arm around Honoo's crackling neck, I'm hoisted to my feet with only the minimal amount of effort required. She lets me brace a palm against her shoulder as I steady myself, shaking the fleeting numbness from my limbs while I silently enjoy the rather constipated look that's overtaken Kalifa's face. She's dumbstruck, and I can't blame her. Really, if you can remain perfectly poised and calm after your enemy's sword's lifeforce is manifested in the form of a roaring tigress shaped by undulating flames... you deserve a spot on Luffy's crew.

The fire of adrenaline has once again invaded my veins, pushing at the limits of how much energy I can contain beneath my feverish tan skin. Honoo (the battered blade) now resides securely in its place at my hip, as I've no real need of a lifeless sword in this situation. Plus, there's still the bothersome fact that the sword is more brittle than tempered glass and might very well shatter at the next impact.

I don't have a clue what would happen to Honoo's spirit if her "vessel" was destroyed, and I don't wanna find out anytime soon.

"Alright," I drawl, cracking my knuckles ominously in the silence that crowds the room, "I'm feeling better. Strength isn't at 100%, but I'm getting there. Little more time and I'll be top-notch again." I lower myself into a feral stance, fluorescent coils of flame winding around my flexing fingers. My smirk is absolutely ferocious. "Not like I need I need to be, though, when I'm running on rage."

Reacting quickly to my shift in temperament, Kalifa floods the room with her maddening bubbles, a triumphant smirk pulling at her graceful (bitchy) features; but it's all of one measly second before the cold weight of reality presses her lips into a look bordering on fear, but still firmly in the realm of indignation.

Honoo roars like a goddamn crack of thunder and fire engulfs the room, tendrils of flame ripping free from her throat and searing the bubbles into a light mist that dissipates quickly in the blistering air.

One shot, and Kalifa's Devil Fruit powers bid us a heart adieu. 

I am loving the new Honoo. Though, to be fair, this has been Honoo. She just only recently felt the need (or necessity) to show me now. I'd be pissed if I wasn't so enamored with her effortless beauty.

I've said before I see the elegance in my powers, see the beauty and the grace. But I've also said I see equally the ugliness of destruction and terror these flames can cause. 

But, seeing Honoo, so brutal and voracious and powerful, I have to smile, a broad, genuine smile that can't be contained by mere willpower. Even carnage can be beautiful if it's wreaked in the name of protecting those you love.

Which is all the motivation I need to plunge through the inferno, fists aflame and eyes alight with relentless fury, throwing my arm back to rocket it forward in a devastating punch that catches Kalifa completely off-guard; her half-assed soap shield melts under the intense heat of my and Honoo's flames combined (actually, Honoo's flames are my flames, seeing as how she's using my Devil Fruit powers to take on a physical form, but that's all in the technicalities and I hate technicalities so... moving on!) and she's sent spiraling out of the room, crashing through the damaged railing lining the second floor balcony.

I skid to a stop at the edge of the newly-made precipice, craning my neck to catch sight of Kalifa - hopefully in a not-too-bloody mess on the floor below. But no, Fate is cruel and I'm her most-loved plaything, as Kalifa is sitting pretty atop her throne of sparkling bathtime bubbles.

Kami, some people just don't know when to quit.

She is, however, a bit blood-soaked; her nose is twisted into an impossible angle and crimson is gushing forth from her quirked nostrils, not so much as dribbling down her face as it is spewing. That makes me happy.

I crook a finger behind me, beckoning Honoo to my side. She glides across the floor, a ghost with no real presence, soundless in her approach. "I don't wanna kill her," I admit grudgingly as I knuckle Honoo's ear like she's some goddamn housecat, "just knock her out. Maybe rough her up a bit more for what she did to Sanji?" - cue a jerky look around the room in search of the incapacited cook - "Huh. Speaking of which, Nami and Chopper must've gotten him outta here. Wonder how they're doing against Pinky..."

You have your father's heart, Raya.

I perk up, eyes flitting to the beast resting on its massive haunches, her pensive eyes scouring the mass of bubbles forming below us. "Shanks'?" I guess.

And Jonah's. But you've most certainly recieved your mother's spirit. That woman was like a tornado, never sitting still, deadlier than any Marine and most pirates parading around the seas. You are a perfect blend of your parents, though I must say you may have been a given a dash more of your mother's snark than you should have.

I swallow thickly, forcing it down a constricted throat that's closed up at Honoo's words. As often as we've talked over the years, she was never one to openly bring up my parents. I thought, after Mom and Dad's deaths, that she didn't want to hurt me by chatting about them, but I realized it was more because of Mom's promise with Shanks that I be relieved of my title as his daughter before I met him on the Grand Line. 

So this speech is a kinda throwing me off, because as much as I love hearing that I'm a badass like Mom (which is coming as a surprise, since she always seemed so docile during my childhood) the fact that I get a bit too emotional about her sometimes hasn't changed. And I need a cool head right now.

Alright, I may have already blown the whole cool head thing, but I'm still fighting for a calm demeanor so that I can "vanquish" my foe once and for all.

"Any ideas on how to deal with that?" I rouse myself from my indulgant stupor, waving a flippant hand at Kalifa, who now has her heels clicking against the floor, face upturned in a nasty scowl that is perpetually mine. 

Reasoning is, obviously out of the question.

I snort. "Obviously."

Brute force is the only thing that comes to mind.

Another wicked smile claims my lips, lifting my eyebrows with an air of frightful mischief. I curl my hands into expectant fists, shifting my weight forward, the soles of my boots barely clinging to the rugged rubble beneath them. "Ready or not" - I'm all but shouting like a gleeful child at this point - "here I freaking come!"

Honoo joins me in the leap (proverbially, from the last cliff of sanity; literally, from the top floor balcony) and a wave of sparks washes over the dainty bubbles still lining the space around Kalifa, popping each dainty, frothing sphere with a collective and oh-so-satisfying hiss as we touch down, knees bent to absorb the shock, faces split in manic grins.

Honoo's is markedly toothier (fang-ier?) than mine,  but I'm radiating no less malice.

"I'm getting payback for your sexual harrassment," I growl, the words vibrating thickly in the back of my throat, falling from my lips in a husky, tameless breath. 

"Oh," she smiles coyly, resting a hand at her cocked hip, "you're too much like Paulie for your own good, Raya dear. So caught up in the trivial things. I made you beautiful. The least you could do in return is step down graciously. You know you're never going to get this key." She plucks said key from where she'd deposited it between her breasts (...again), lifting it up by two fingers, tentatively close, mockingly distant.

I let out another snarl, my upper lip rising menacingly, revealing teeth gritted so violently Chopper may just end hving to craft a few replacements for me. "Not. In. The. Mood." Honoo rumbles agreement at my side, ghosting forward, fiery pawprints trailing in her wake. She suddenly springs, powerful hind legs propelling her high into the air, tail swishing out embers behind her; Kalifa takes a wary step back, anticipating Honoo's preferred landing spot and attempting to counter against it.

I smirk. Never trust a fickle cat.

Honoo swerves mid-air, folding her toned body almost in half, her back paws launching her from the opposite wall, on collision with a stunned Kalifa; before she can scurry out of the way, I'm dropping low, palms pressed to the ground to brace myself and take my weight as I swing my leg around in a deadly pinwheel, continuous arcs of flame whipping off my boots and jeans. It's all she can do to throw up another eggshell barrier, coccooning herself inside in hopes of staving off the blaze.

My flames (just like before) only succeed in melting off the first layer, but Honoo... well, she may be made entirely of etheral wisps of fire, but she weighs as much as any bloodthirsty hunter, evidenced when she slams into the soapy fortress and it crumbles to nothing, aflame with the remnents of her latest roar. 

When the dust settles, the little tongues of flame snuffed out and the last of the bubbles popped from existence, there lies Kalifa, pinned to the ground by two blazing paws on her shoulders, a maw dripping molten saliva above her, split into a devilish grin (because tigers can obviously produce a devilish vibe). 

I cross the room without a hint of urgency in my lofty footsteps. Reaching the duo, I bend down, hands resting on my knees, complacent smile dripping with arrogance (Nami tells me I should really work on that). "Well, well, well" - my sneer is making a comeback - "Ain't this just grand? Just a few seconds ago, you were all high and mighty. Now you're toast."

Raya, stop with the puns. You're dreadful.

Heh. Dissed by my own sword. Another first for Flynn D. Raya. 

Kalifa - predictably - doesn't respond. She's a little caught up in writhing in agony, moans detailing her excruciating misery tearing from her lips with every jerk.

I'm not the least bit affected by Honoo's burning "flesh"; Kalifa (non-Flame-Flame Fruit eater) is quite the different story.

Honoo's smoldering claws are sunk deep into Kalifa treasured skin, ripping through the fabric of her slutty suit-jacket as though it wasn't there at all, turning her once pink skin black as a starless night. As fast as she can generate a protective molding of soap, Honoo renders it into worthless mush that only serves to further char her puckered flesh.

"You lost," I grin, before I whip her head ninety degrees courtesy of my leather boot, and she falls limp in Honoo's hold, prompting the beast to lope off, circling the blistered body once, twice, then settling down at my feet, a rumbling purr shivering through her as she affectionately rubs her head against my legs. 

Much as I'm loathe to touch such a revolting creature, I have to get the key from her, so I do it in one quick motion so that there's as little skin-to-skin contact as possible. 

Raya.

"Hm?" I blink down at Honoo. "What's up?"

I'll be going now.

"Eh? Wait, why? And what do you mean, going?"

Oh, don't be so worried. I'm only returning to that beautiful blade hanging from your hip. This form is unstable; I can't retain it indefinitely. I'll fade soon enough, my spirit flowing back into the cold steel I was born in. But I'll leave now so as not to drain your strength further. 

I flex my fingers, muscles along my forearm going taut. I hadn't noticed. Hadn't noticed the strength oozing from my exhausted limbs along with the fire bursting from my fingertips. My eyes flick to Honoo; the worse off I feel, the brighter and more tangible she becomes. "Ah, I get it. So this is more like a last resort sorta thing, then."

Exactly. Her wispy whiskered cheeks curl upwards in a smile. That Zoro is too harsh; you're intelligent, quick to pick on things, quick to scout out danger. You're simply lacking in academic smarts. 

I sweat drop. Of course. Honoo manages to simultaneously compliment and degrade me. 

I hope we're able to meet like this again... And then, like waning mist swept up by a sea breeze, she begins to fade, bits of sparks and embers blown off to the side as though urged on by a sudden gale, until all that's left is a flush of warmth surging through my body and four distinct paw prints seared in the floor a few inches from my feet.

Dammit. Why am I crying? I wipe the salty tears from my cheeks in frustration, flicking them away with unnecessary flair and exaggeration. Kami I'm a mess. There's nothing to cry over, nothing worth shedding a single goddamn tear about. Yet here I am, spilling waterworks like I just lost my puppy.

Or my little kitty.

Damn.

"Raya!"

I straighten instinctively, my eyes snapping towards the eastern doorway, where a panting Nami now stands, red-faced from her run, slick with sweat, her Climatact held in trembling fingers. I'm about to ask her what the hell went wrong and where's Chopper when she pauses, mid-exhale, her eyes straying towards the body slumped lifelessly a few feet from me.

"Huh. You won. Good job."

My eye begins twitching just shy of spastically. Does she have to sound like my win was a long-shot from the beginning? Sheesh. Have some faith in your crew mates, Navigator.

"What the hell happened to you?" I demand, easily brushing aside the topic of my unprecedented win. She sobers, blank face transforming into one of uncertainty and terror as her lips part to explain.

Only, she doesn't quite get that far. 

One section of wall erupts without warning, drenching us with jagged debris Nami scrambles to dodge while I stay innocently still, feeling only the slightest of tingles as each brick and stone passes through my intangible form. 

You just gotta love Logia Types.

If only my smile could've lasted a bit longer; but nope, it falters the moment I see the absolute monstrosity leering at us from the window caused in the high-octane blast. It's rages, slamming meaty paws into the decimated walls, ripping chunks of stone down from the ceiling, antlers piercing the sky with every frenzied toss of its head.

As I grab hold of Nami and retreat to a safe distance (more or less ignoring her intense shouting that's right next to my goddamn ear), my breath hitches in my throat.

That pink hat. 

Blown up to gargantuan sizes and atop a beast fervently more ferocious than even the spiritual form of Honoo, I'd still recognize that red-pink top hat anywhere. Even now, in the pits of hell itself. 

"Chopper...!"