*HOOOOOOONNNK*

Melanie: GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!

The violent vibrating volumes from the ship's fog horn causes the white pajama wearing Malachite twin to awaken from her slumber and have a mini seizure in her bed. Calming herself down, she snaps her gaze towards the porthole. It is wide open as it lets in both the smell of the sea and the sound of everything into the twins' personal cabin room.

She has told her sister, Miltia, a dozen times to close that thing when they sleep. How the red dressed girl expects Melanie to not give her an earful afterward is a mystery. Anyway, as she thinks of new ways to yell at her sister, she suddenly remembers something.

This is the day they finally arrive at Mistral. The twins' homeland, and where... she still resides. It's probably best to explain that to the boss at some point. Melanie doesn't know why she's hesitant about it. The Xiongs are bound to get unwanted attention... Eh, cross that bridge later. Right now, she hops out of bed, stretches her back out, gets dressed, and storms out of the room in search of a certain well-dressed sister.

Melanie: Miltia!

[Location: Lower decks]

You sit on a crate stroking your cock.

Xiong1: Hey, boss!

You stop petting the rooster you've befriended on the ship and look over your shoulder.

Xiong1: We're about to reach land in an hour or two.

You set the chicken down and hop off the box to head towards your henchman.

(Y/n): About time.

The two of you make your way up some stairs and arrive at the ship deck, exposing your senses to the ocean scenery. A scenery you are very much sick to death of seeing, hearing, and smelling. Thank fuck it's almost over.

Anyway, you pull a pair of red tinted sunglasses out as the high noon sun makes you look like a local from Mistral.

(Y/n): Go find Pen and help him spread the word to get ready. I want everything prepared to be off the boat when we dock.

Xiong1: You got it.

He quickly jogs off to locate your fellow Xiong on this ship. Meanwhile, you go to head back to your cabin. As you take a leisurely walk, you think back on your time on the boat. You and the Xiongs have been couped up on this ship for over a month now; had to make a detour because of soemthing called a Leviathan, and you've had the horrible idea of testing your semblance during the entire trip.

In short, you made three weeks drag on for... longer. And what do you have to show for it? Five and a half hours. Whether in short bursts or one go, you can only rewind barely half a work day. After that, you try to go any further, and you end up with a migraine that makes you want to split your own head open.

But enough about that. Your train of thought is interrupted by the sound of someone puking their guts out from sea sickness. Leaning over a guard railing, with a stream of stomach content being launched downward, is one of your Xiong underlings. Specifically the newest one.

Johnny: BLAAAARGHHAHAAAAUGG!

Johnny finishes up with a couple of dry heaves as he clings to the iron bars for dear life.

(Y/n): Hang in there, Johnny. When you're finished, head down to help with packing.

You give him a pat on the back as you pass by and walk towards a door leading to the ship's cabins. Various flavors of people go about preparing their arrival to Mistral. Land of sushi, pachinko machines, rice worshipping, bootlegging, and all sorts of other oriental crap. Back to the cabins thing; You arrive at your designated cabin and head inside.

Bed is a mess, one or two chairs are destroyed, crusty towels thrown about, a mysterious blue stain on the ceiling, and dicks drawn all over the walls. Ranging from two circles and an oval all the way to finely detailed flaccids...... You've been on this ship for far too long. The only thing in the cabin that hasn't been violently violated is a table by the porthole.

On the table is your ill gained armaments. A six inch knife sits in the middle of the intact furniture. A stereotypical black handle with a stainless steel blade, nothing else. Compared to your other weapons, it is a very unimpressive, underwhelming, and unimaginative choice in killing someone. However, although using it only a few times, you just can't seem to get rid of it. Maybe for nostalgia reasons, or maybe, like a piece of wood sitting in a garage for 20 years, you believe you'll have some use for it one day. Regardless, you take it and put it in a holster in your back pocket.

Next are a pair of gauntlets. Painted red during your time on this boat, these manly bracelets house a set of extending blades and built-in guns. Curtesy of a Huntsman whose name you do not know. They have proven to be very handy at shooting and stabbing things that you do not like, and given your experiences back in Vale, these gauntlets are probably going to see more mileage. You place the weaponized fashion statements on your forearms, locking them into place with a satisfying mechanical click.

Finally, the piece de resistance. A piece of equipment you acquired during the most crazy night of your life. A demonic delifing death machine that puts a smile on your face whenever you hold it in your hands. A chainaxe with the most death cult decore you've ever seen. Starting from the handle, a surprisingly unimpressive pummel acts as the axe's ass. Going up, a pale leather wrapping covers half of the shaft, almost long enough to two hand. The other half is a solid metal shaft covered in spikes. Sitting on the handle is a large red mechanical head. With, you know, a head embedded in it. Mostly a skull.

As the name implies, instead of a sharp edge, it is replaced with a roller chain with metallic teeth welded to it. And boy howdy, can it bite.... You grab the axe by the safer half and place it on your back. The magnetic holster on your harness quickly grabs the axe and holds it in place with a clank.

With arsenal thoroughly on your person, you turn to a cracked mirror to check yourself out. A handsome looking bastard stares back at you with black dress shoes, equally black pants, a white button-up shirt, a black vest with a loose tie dangling over it, and a black leather harness holding the axe to your back. Overall, you would've thought this looked sexy as hell if it weren't for the aforementioned crack. It appears similar to a spider web at the top of the mirror, leaving your face with a splintered visage. If you had the slightest bit of poetic imagination, you would have assumed this as a form of symbolism.

Satisfied with your appearance, you collect any other belongings from your room and head out the door for the final time. If the Xiongs manage to do their tasks without a hitch, everything should be ready to go in an hour. Meh, you better go down and make sure they do it right.

[Location: Cargo hold]

Pen: No! Heavy stuff on the bottom, light on top! You worked in retail for four years. You should know this!

Pengyou Yanse, or simply Pen, holds back a mental breakdown as he coordinates the other Xiongs in playing real-life tetris with all the crap they managed to bring from Vale and put it all back on the trucks. However, with the cramped space, uncoordination, and the lack of three of the more responsible members of the gang to lead the charge, Pen would have had an easier time sodomizing a mountain lion.

That violently risqué thought is interrupted with two fellow goons accidentally dropping a crate of Dust, resulting in a loud clatter that raises Pen's blood pressure by a small percentage.

Pen: Are you fu--Be careful with that!

He rushes over to help lift the totally-not-unstable crate and starts shimmying over to a truck. The black dressed trio managed to get to the truck but are having a bit of trouble lifting it up to place it in. With all the other Xiongs busy doing their best, Pen is shit out of luck on this one. With a sigh, he figures they could flip it up and over on its side, but that might be too risky for all kinds of reasons.

Before he could voice that suggestion, the crate suddenly gets just a bit lighter and is easily placed in the truck. This gives Pen the indication that someone came over to help. He turns towards the good samaritan to give his thanks, while also giving a snarky response about some people being useful, only to inhale his own tongue when he sees you push the crate a little further in before turning to him.

(Y/n): How goes the packing?

You have a little look around, admiring the disorganized mess your gang is pulling off as you look back to your third most competent member. He composes himself as he, too, takes a look around at the situation at hand.

Pen: Well, uh, it's... Yeah, it sucks.

You let out an agreeable snort, going stone face as you watch two Xiongs try to stack some crates on a pallet for some reason, one somehow manage to wedge a car between two trucks, and three more are trying to pull Johnny out from under a fallen over gun crate. Overall, a hot fucking mess.

(Y/n):...... Okie dokie.

You place both of your pinkies in your mouth and let out a sharp whistle. This catches every red glasses wearing goon within earshot, while Pen tenderly rubs his ear from that.

(Y/n): Alright! I want ya'll to drop what you're doing--not literally, I swear to fuck. Make sure first that everything that needs to be in a box IS in a box. Get three or four people to move a box to the trucks. Make sure everything is fasten down thrice, and be ready to drive on out! GET TO IT!

That final statement gets everyone moving to start doing as they're told as you turn back to Pen.

(Y/n): Go help Johnny before he suffocates. And where HELL are the twins?

You walk off to start helping with the packing as Pen rushes over to the trapped Johnny.

(Two hours later)

The ship finally comes to a stop in a dockyard as the crew both on board and off begin tying the vessel down with mooring lines. After several minutes, ramps and stairways are finally added to begin unloading both cargo and people. As the normal passengers take the stairs to walk off the boat and begin their new lives in Mistral, a group of thirty well-dressed individuals start driving down the ramp in several trucks, a refurbished police car, and one swanky looking motorcycle.

Practically every Xiong goon is in a truck, so they are the most lively as they leave. Almost every truck is blaring with music or chatter as the underlings are excited to finally be on solid ground again. Among them is a recolored police car housing the only two women of the gang. The white dressed Melanie drives the vehicle as she seems to be running her mouth at her sister. Apparently, she's still upset about the porthole being left open this morning. Meanwhile, the red dressed Miltia simply dawns a bored expression, clearly not listening to her sister.

Finally, driving past the multitude of trucks is you, riding on your motorcycle. What was once a gayass yellow and orange bike with what was probably a dumb name is now a badass black and red beast with a cool name. That name being printed on the ass end reading 'Little Bear'... You really hope it says that. Because if some Mistral residents start pointing and laughing at your bike because it actually says 'Little Penis', you will set fire to the whole kingdom and go into hiding with a new name.

Until then, you drive off the ramp, disembarking from your aquatic exodus as you finally enter the Kingdom of the East, Mistral. You stop your motorcycle a little ways away from the ship and take a good look at your new surroundings. The dockyard appears to be smaller than the one in Vale, with half the buildings seeming to be used as a makeshift town. Beyond that is a stretch of grassland capped with a forest a little ways away.

So far, it looks literally no different from Vale. Maybe a little oriental, but that's about it.

A truck pulls up next to you, its window rolling down to reveal Pen at the wheel.

Pen: So, what now, boss?

You glance over to him, then back towards Mistral. A grin slowly creeps across your lips from his question.

Then you realize you did not think this far ahead.

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