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7/5/2025, 6:36:09 PM
>>280267247
>Shanks’s laugh was lighter, but his eyes narrowed, catching the glint of steel as Teach drew his blade. "You talk big, but let’s see if you can keep up." Their swords clashed, the ring of metal sharp against the dull roar of the sea. The fight was fast, brutal, their movements fluid yet charged with a raw, almost intimate intensity. Each parry, each strike, felt like a conversation—push and pull, testing limits, neither willing to yield.
>Teach’s strength was overwhelming, his blade a force of nature, but Shanks danced around it, his agility a counterpoint to Teach’s raw power. Yet the heat sapped his focus, sweat stinging his eyes. Teach’s grin widened, sensing weakness. "What’s wrong, Shanks? Feeling the burn?" He lunged, close enough that Shanks felt the warmth of his breath, the scent of rum and salt mingling with the summer air.
>Shanks twisted away, but not fast enough. Teach’s blade grazed his face, three sharp lines carving across his eye. Blood welled, hot and sticky, and Shanks stumbled back, his breath hitching. The pain was sharp, but it was Teach’s gaze—dark, triumphant, and something dangerously close to possessive—that burned deeper. "Looks good on ya," Teach said, voice low, almost a purr, as he stepped back, not pressing the advantage. "Something to remember me by."
>Shanks pressed a hand to his face, blood seeping between his fingers, but his grin didn’t falter. "You’re gonna have to try harder than that, Teach." His voice was steady, laced with defiance, but the sting of the wound and the weight of Teach’s stare lingered, a promise of unfinished business.
>Teach laughed, sheathing his blade, his eyes still locked on Shanks with that same unsettling hunger. "Oh, I will. Next time, Red-Hair." He turned, his shadow stretching long across the scorched earth as he walked away, leaving Shanks alone with the sweltering sun, the roar of the sea, and the fresh scar that would define him.
>Shanks’s laugh was lighter, but his eyes narrowed, catching the glint of steel as Teach drew his blade. "You talk big, but let’s see if you can keep up." Their swords clashed, the ring of metal sharp against the dull roar of the sea. The fight was fast, brutal, their movements fluid yet charged with a raw, almost intimate intensity. Each parry, each strike, felt like a conversation—push and pull, testing limits, neither willing to yield.
>Teach’s strength was overwhelming, his blade a force of nature, but Shanks danced around it, his agility a counterpoint to Teach’s raw power. Yet the heat sapped his focus, sweat stinging his eyes. Teach’s grin widened, sensing weakness. "What’s wrong, Shanks? Feeling the burn?" He lunged, close enough that Shanks felt the warmth of his breath, the scent of rum and salt mingling with the summer air.
>Shanks twisted away, but not fast enough. Teach’s blade grazed his face, three sharp lines carving across his eye. Blood welled, hot and sticky, and Shanks stumbled back, his breath hitching. The pain was sharp, but it was Teach’s gaze—dark, triumphant, and something dangerously close to possessive—that burned deeper. "Looks good on ya," Teach said, voice low, almost a purr, as he stepped back, not pressing the advantage. "Something to remember me by."
>Shanks pressed a hand to his face, blood seeping between his fingers, but his grin didn’t falter. "You’re gonna have to try harder than that, Teach." His voice was steady, laced with defiance, but the sting of the wound and the weight of Teach’s stare lingered, a promise of unfinished business.
>Teach laughed, sheathing his blade, his eyes still locked on Shanks with that same unsettling hunger. "Oh, I will. Next time, Red-Hair." He turned, his shadow stretching long across the scorched earth as he walked away, leaving Shanks alone with the sweltering sun, the roar of the sea, and the fresh scar that would define him.
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