Chapter 193: Vash departs. Witchblade conclusion. New outfits.

You shake your head slightly. "I doubt you'll be sticking around with us on a boat for however long it takes to make portals to other worlds when there's an entire world of greenery out there for you to explore."

Vash's green eyes drift to the treeline, the pines swaying in coastal wind, and something in his expression softens. You can see it - the desert-born wanderer already imagining roads that don't end in dust.

"As for somewhere populated," you continue, "the zombie apocalypse famously cripples peaceful supply lines. Hence why most cities and towns are empty. If you follow the coast south to the next city, then follow the highway inland, you'll start seeing the first groups of people with fuel to travel. The southern six or so cities after that will have more people and more stability." You pause. "If you head in other directions though, you're likely to see just how bad a society will turn when required resources run dry."

Vash's jaw tightens. He knows what desperation does to people. He's lived it on Gunsmoke.

"As for what I'm building - aside from my own little sanctuary, I've already done most of my part for the planet. I've sent ships across the world to generate fuel. That should restore mobility and give survivors the option to restore power sources." You meet his gaze evenly. "One of my multiple current goals is to save half of humanity. Well, half of the original count."

The number hangs in the salt air. Half. Vash's fingers twitch toward his revolver - not threatening, just the unconscious reaction of a man processing the scale of what you've just described.

"And I give my word," you finish, "if there's anything we need you for, we'll come calling."

Vash is quiet for a long moment. The Pacific crashes against rocks below. Esdeath has drifted closer, listening with the particular intensity of someone cataloging power structures. Erza watches from the treeline with her arms folded, scarlet hair catching sea spray.

"Half of humanity," Vash repeats. His voice is soft but his eyes are sharp - the Humanoid Typhoon assessing whether you're serious. "That's... not a small thing you're saying."

"No. It isn't. The original expected loss of a zombie apocalypse is 99.99%. Saving any percentage of that will take more than a miracle."

He looks down at his restored left hand, flexes the fingers, then turns back to the ocean. The wind catches his red coat, billowing it wide. When he speaks again, there's something resolved in his tone - the particular sound of Vash the Stampede making a decision.

"I'll head south along the coast first. See what's out there." He turns back to you with a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "And if you need me - well. You know where to find me. Or you will, once I stop moving."

He extends his restored left hand. The handshake is firm, warm, genuine.

"Thank you," he says simply. "For bringing me back. For the ring. For..." He glances at Esdeath, at the armed women, at the impossible magic that raised him from death. "For being one of the good ones."

Esdeath snorts. "Don't mistake kindness for weakness. He froze me solid in under two seconds."

Vash's eyebrows rise. He looks at you with renewed assessment.

"I'll keep that in mind," he says dryly.

Hinata steps forward, bowing slightly. "May your travels be safe, Vash-san."

Kurumi appears at your shoulder, heterochromatic eyes gleaming. "We'll be watching. Through the reputation, if nothing else."

Vash blinks at that, clearly uncertain how to respond, then laughs - a genuine sound that echoes off the cliffs. He holsters his revolver, adjusts his coat, and turns south along the coastline. His stride is already loosening into the easy wanderer's gait of a man who's spent his whole life walking toward the next horizon.

He doesn't look back.

Vash's red coat becomes a distant speck against the coastal rocks, then vanishes entirely behind a headland. The Pacific crashes against the cliffs below, indifferent to the departure of a man who shouldn't be alive.

You return to the Gate. The shimmering oval revealing the Anchorage galley's familiar fluorescent lighting and the smell of Heroes' Feast conjured food - roasted meats, fresh bread, steaming vegetables that materialize on the long tables every six hours without fail.

"Looks like it's lunchtime." you say.

Seven women step through in loose formation. Erza first, half-plate clicking. Esdeath follows with her rapier hand loose, still processing the ocean's vastness. Mikasa scans the galley instinctively before relaxing. Yugito's feline pupils adjust to the interior lighting. Sinon shoulders her rifle and drifts toward a corner seat. Kurumi and Hinata flank you as the Gate closes behind you with a soft displacement of air.

The galley is full. The five sleepers have integrated into the communal space - Akame sits at a table with her seventh plate, Murasame's dark scabbard propped against her chair. Esdeath gravitates toward her immediately, sliding onto the bench across from the assassin. Tatsumaki watches from a couch, green hair disheveled, her tiny frame curled into a defensive ball but her eyes tracking Esdeath's arrival with a predatory assessment.

Hancock sits beside Riveria. She hasn't moved from her spot, but her posture has shifted - shoulders slightly less rigid, hands resting on the table rather than clenched in her lap. Roxanne sits on her other side, tail wagging gently as she explains something in low tones. Liza stands nearby, scaled arms crossed, occasionally adding a quiet comment.

You settle into your usual seat near the middle table. Hinata slides in on your left immediately, her maid uniform's short skirt riding up as she presses her thigh against yours. Kurumi takes the right, her French maid outfit rustling as she leans into your shoulder, heterochromatic eyes gleaming with possessive satisfaction. Both of them press too close to move your arms, leaving you to wrap your arms around their waists, realizing their intentions.

"Goshujin-sama must be hungry," Hinata murmurs, picking up a piece of bread with delicate fingers. She brings it to your lips, her lavender eyes soft and expectant.

You accept the bite. Kurumi's hand finds your arm, her fingers tracing the silver contract marks visible on your forearm.

"Ara, Master looks tired," Kurumi purrs, selecting a piece of roasted chicken with her chopsticks. She holds it to your mouth, her crimson eye catching the overhead lights. "Let us take care of you."

Hinata feeds you another piece, then Kurumi takes her turn. They settle into an unspoken rhythm - alternating bites, their bodies pressed warm against your sides. Hinata's free hand rests on your thigh beneath the table, fingers tracing small circles. Kurumi's head tilts against your shoulder, her dark hair spilling across your arm.

Across the galley, Yugito has settled near Yoruichi again, golden feline eyes watching the feeding with quiet curiosity. Esdeath and Akame eat in companionable silence, the ice general occasionally glancing at you with newly recalibrated respect.

Maria approaches from the kitchen area, a cup of tea in hand. "Vash resurrection went smoothly?" she asks, setting the tea before you.

"Cleaner than I had hoped," you confirm between bites that Hinata offers.

"Good." Maria's violet eyes flick to the two women pressed against you, a small knowing smile crossing her lips. "The newcomers are settling. Akame's eaten enough for three people. Esdeath challenged Mikasa for tomorrow dawn - weapons sparring. And Hancock..." She pauses, glancing toward the Kuja empress. "Hasn't really spoken to anyone except Riveria. But she's still here, listening to Roxanne and Liza. Still sitting with the group. That's something."

Hinata feeds you another piece of bread, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, "Goshujin-sama did something wonderful."

Kurumi's fingers tighten on your arm. "And now you rest," she murmurs against your shoulder. "Even masters need to be fed."

You swallow the piece of chicken Kurumi just fed you and look across the galley to where Esdeath sits with Akame, her ice-blue eyes already tracking Mikasa's movements as the Survey Corps soldier refills her water.

"Esdeath, Mikasa, about tomorrow's sparring," you say, loud enough for both of them to hear. "Esdeath, limit your ice manipulation to weapon manifestation only. No environmental freezing, no ice barriers, no terrain manipulation. Weapons only." You hold her gaze. "And both of you - avoid a drawn-out battle. Combining regeneration with extended combat tends to result in little more than mutually-prolonged torture. End it quickly or end it without being stubborn."

Esdeath's lips curve. "You think she can hurt me enough to need regeneration?"

"I think you'll find Mikasa's blade work isn't something you can simply guard against," you reply evenly. "And she'll find that your rapier techniques are impressively lethal. Keep it clean and fair."

Mikasa nods once, not looking up from her water glass. "Understood."

Esdeath tilts her head, considering. "Weapon manifestation only. A handicap." Her eyes flick to you with something between challenge and respect. "Acceptable. For now."

Hinata feeds you another bite, her lavender eyes watching the exchange with quiet satisfaction. Kurumi's fingers trace idle patterns on your arm.

You turn to the corner "Bulma, Rika - where are you on the Witchblade analysis?"

Bulma's response comes immediately, her voice carrying the particular crispness of someone delivering conclusions they've already rehearsed. "We finished the last three episodes twenty minutes ago. Full series complete. I've compiled a comprehensive psychological profile."

"And?"

"Your memory was accurate. Masane's personality problems - the impulsiveness, the self-destructive patterns, the inability to maintain stable relationships - all of it predates the Witchblade. The artifact amplifies existing dysfunction. It doesn't create it." Bulma pauses. "Her daughter Rihoko was the only stabilizing force in her life. Without that anchor, the Witchblade feeds directly into her worst impulses."

Rika cuts in from next to her, more measured. "The earthquake and tsunami risk is genuine. The Witchblade's defensive mechanisms scale with the host's emotional state. Masane at baseline is already volatile. Masane bonded with the Witchblade in a post-apocalyptic scenario with her daughter absent? The artifact would interpret any resurrection attempt as a threat to its bond."

"So we keep her frozen," you confirm.

"Both because of her personality issues and because of the danger," Bulma agrees. "The Witchblade bonded to someone with pre-existing psychological dysfunction in a high-stress environment is a weapon of mass destruction waiting for a trigger. Until we can return her to her own world - where Rihoto exists as a stabilizing anchor - she should remain in cold storage. I've documented everything in a full report on my tablet."

"Understood. Good work, both of you."

Rika returns to her meal with characteristic brevity. Bulma lingers for a moment. "Brad... there's one more thing. The Witchblade's bonding mechanism - it seeks hosts with specific psychological vulnerabilities. Masane wasn't chosen randomly. Neither were any of the other hosts in the series. The artifact is predatory in a way that... well." She trails off meaningfully.

"It's named evilly for a reason. Thank you, Bulma."

You settle back, Kurumi's head resting against your shoulder, Hinata's hand warm on your thigh beneath the table. Across the galley, Esdeath has already resumed watching Mikasa with predatory focus, mentally rehearsing tomorrow's encounter. Akame eats beside her in companionable silence, Murasame's dark scabbard propped against her chair like a sleeping predator.

The galley hums with post-lunch contentment - plates being cleared, conversations settling into comfortable murmurs.

"Alright," you say, voice carrying across the tables. "While the ripped clothing look has some appeal, I think we can do better. Maria - take the five down to storage and help them pick out new outfits."

Maria rises smoothly, violet eyes already cataloging each of the sleepers with professional assessment. "Of course, Master."

Hancock remains seated, dark eyes guarded. Riveria touches her shoulder gently - a wordless prompt. She rises with regal deliberation, her tattered slave tunic hanging loose on her frame.

Maria approaches her with careful warmth. "We have quite a selection. Let me find something that fits your... presence."

You turn to Rika as they depart for a wardrobe session. "Get me the lists of international Navy ships we still need to enchant. We're days behind."

Rika nods crisply, already pulling her tablet from her tactical vest. "I'll have the full manifest within the hour. Twenty-six vessels confirmed in the coalition, but Colonel Reeves has been fielding requests from seven additional navies. The British, French, Japanese, Indian, and Australian fleets all want packages. Plus two Canadian frigates that joined after Calgary's demonstration."

"Prioritize by fuel independence and population capacity," you say. "We let the cruise ships distract us. I'll do a large batch of warships and supply vessels tonight."

"Understood." Rika's fingers are already moving towards the command room. "I'll cross-reference with Albedo for efficiency."

Maria surprises you by sharing her sight privately across the Telepathy Web. You close your eyes enjoying the warmth of Hinata and Kurumi pressing against your sides.

Akame stands in front of Maria, torn shirt and pants on the floor, black bra and panties revealing her figure, Murasame's scabbard tucked under one arm. "Something practical," she says. "A shirt and skirt. Nothing that restricts movement."

"Understood," Maria replies, already mentally sorting inventory categories.

Hancock removes her slave tunic, revealing large breasts and a strip of fabric that can barely be called a thong, while bikini panties are accepted instantly her outer outfit takes effort. Hancock rejects three outfits before Maria finds a fitted black dress that clings without constraining - the fabric stretching across her curves in a way that acknowledges her figure without reducing her to it. Hancock examines herself in the mirror with an expression caught between relief and residual shame at caring about appearance.

Tatsumaki is a different challenge entirely.

"What the HELL is this?!" Her voice carries from the storage room like a small explosion. You hear Maria's measured response, then Tatsumaki's shriek: "I am twenty-three years old! I am NOT wearing a sailor uniform!"

Maria expression carefully neutral but her violet eyes sparkling with barely-contained amusement. "The only things in your measurements are children's sizes or cosplay. I'm afraid the selection is... limited."

"LIMITED?!" Tatsumaki yells, holding a frilly pink outfit at arm's length like it's contaminated. "This is a joke. This has to be a joke."

What emerges twenty minutes later is a compromise that leaves Tatsumaki furious and Maria quietly delighted. A cropped white top with ribbon ties that exposes her midriff, paired with a pleated skirt that barely reaches mid-thigh. The effect is devastating - the petite esper looks simultaneously adorable and provocatively erotic, her small frame accentuated by clothing clearly designed for someone who wanted to be noticed.

"I will kill you," Tatsumaki hisses at Maria, who simply smiles.

Esdeath approaches the selection with predatory pragmatism. She holds up a fitted dark top, tests the range of motion, nods. "This. And these." She selects military-cut pants that taper at the ankle, leaving her rapier arm unrestricted.

"Something attractive but tactical," Maria suggests, holding up a dark jacket with reinforced shoulders. "It won't restrict your ice manifestation."

Esdeath's ice-blue eyes assess the garment. "Acceptable." She pauses, then adds with unusual candor: "What would you recommend for... making an impression?"

Maria's smile widens. She produces a fitted vest that accentuates Esdeath's athletic frame while maintaining combat functionality. The young hunter examines it, runs her thumb across the fabric, and nods once.

Yugito's selection is quieter but deliberate. She chooses a fitted top that accommodates her Cloud kunoichi wraps underneath, paired with flexible pants. When Maria suggests something more flattering, Yugito's golden feline eyes meet hers steadily.

"I need to move quickly," Yugito says. "But... if it also looks good, that's not a disadvantage."

Maria helps her find a sleeveless jacket that frames her shoulders while leaving her arms free. Yugito flexes experimentally, her vertical pupils dilating with satisfaction.

The five have reassembled in their new outfits. Akame in a practical dark shirt and skirt, Murasame's scabbard now properly belted at her hip. Esdeath in her tactical-dark ensemble, looking every inch the young predator finding her footing. Yugito in her sleeveless jacket and flexible pants, feline grace evident in every movement. Hancock in her fitted black dress, chin lifted with recovered dignity. And Tatsumaki - furious, adorable, and unintentionally erotic in her cropped top and pleated skirt, green hair practically bristling with indignation.

You open your eyes preparing for their return to the galley, hands still holding Hinata and Kurumi's waists.