The Grand Azathoth Hotel - Chapter 55

Chapter 55

The stairs stretched downward in endless, twisting stone, leading Kaido deeper into the unknown. His boots hit the ground with heavy, deliberate steps, the echo reverberating off the walls. He wasn’t afraid. No, fear was something he had long abandoned. But there was an edge of intrigue now, a slow-burning curiosity that was so rare for him to feel these days. He had come down expecting to find a miserable little rat hole where Yamato had crawled off to die. Instead, he had descended into something far stranger.

The air changed as he stepped forward. It was too clean, too still, lacking the usual stench of sea salt or damp stone. The walls faded away, and before him stretched a garden the likes of which he had never seen. Towering trees with thick, golden leaves stood in perfect rows, their bark gleaming with an unnatural sheen. The air was rich with the scent of fruits he couldn’t name, colors bursting in shades that felt almost wrong, like something drawn from a dream.

And then his eyes locked onto them.

Hanging from one of the branches, growing naturally as if they belonged there, were Devil Fruits.

Kaido froze.

His mind, dulled by years of battle and drink, sharpened instantly. A garden where Devil Fruits grew on trees? His fingers twitched toward his kanabo, but he didn’t move. He just stared, cold calculation running beneath his skin. There was only one place this could be. One place worthy of something this impossible.

Laugh Tale.

His breath came slower, deeper, as the realization settled in. Was this it? Was this what the world had fought and bled for? Was he standing in front of the One Piece?

But how?

The stairs—where had they really led him? How had he crossed into a place that should have been unreachable?

A rustling sound pulled him from his thoughts.

“Yo, dude.”

Kaido turned.

A man stepped out from between the trees, his hands shoved into the pockets of a lazily worn doorman’s coat. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with wild red hair that caught the unnatural light filtering through the golden leaves. His golden eyes, gleaming with something ancient, flicked over Kaido as if bored. He didn’t look like a warrior. He didn’t carry a weapon. His uniform was open, exposing a lean, muscled torso, but there was no battle stance, no readiness. Just a lazy posture, like a man who had just rolled out of bed and couldn’t be bothered with anything serious.

Kaido narrowed his eyes.

This was the guardian?

The man exhaled a small puff of smoke—no, not smoke. Fire. It curled lazily from his lips as he scratched his cheek, as casual as a man commenting on the weather.

“I’m afraid you’re trespassing,” the red-haired man said, tone completely unbothered. “The stairs weren’t for you. Or at least, that’s what the Hotel says.” He yawned, stretching his arms. “So, be a good sport and go back upstairs before I have to beat the shit out of you.”

Kaido stared.

And then—

He laughed.

A deep, full-bodied belly laugh that shook his chest and echoed through the garden. A weakling had just told him to leave. A man without a weapon had just threatened him. It was so absurd, so insulting, that it looped back around to being hilarious.

“You?” Kaido smirked, rolling his shoulders as he lifted his kanabo. “Beat me?”

The red-haired man gave a slow, lazy shrug. “Yeah.”

Kaido grinned wider, the thrill of battle starting to creep into his veins. It had been so long since someone had spoken to him like this. Since someone had been so stupid.

Without another word, he swung his kanabo.

The earth split beneath the force, the air screamed, and the power behind it was enough to shatter mountains.

And yet—

Clink.

The man caught it.

With one hand.

Kaido’s grin faltered for the first time in years.

The red-haired man barely seemed to register the weight behind the strike. His fingers gripped the metal lazily, the rest of his body completely relaxed. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he lifted his other hand, stuck a finger in his nose, and let out a slow, exaggerated sigh.

“You call this hitting?” His tone was almost disappointed. “You hit like a little girl.”

Then he paused.

A visible shudder ran through his body, like he had just recalled something deeply unpleasant. His face twisted slightly, and then, after a moment, he muttered under his breath, “Actually… you hit a lot less strong than a little girl.”

Kaido blinked.

And then, for the first time in what felt like centuries, he smiled.

This fight…

This fight was going to be good. Kaido’s laughter rumbled like distant thunder, deep and booming, rolling through the golden trees. His blood sang with excitement, a thrill he had not felt in decades. His grip tightened around his kanabo, but his fingers were already changing, scales rippling across his skin, muscles expanding, bones stretching. His form shifted, expanding outward, his body twisting into something vast and serpentine.

In mere moments, Kaido the Man was gone.

In his place coiled Kaido the Azure Dragon, his massive body winding through the air, shimmering blue scales reflecting the golden light. Lightning crackled around him, dancing between the storm clouds that manifested from his presence alone. His jaws parted, revealing fangs the size of swords. This was his true form. This was power.

But before he could revel in the transformation, his opponent—this red-haired fool—grinned.

“At last.” The man cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. Then, a slow, toothy smirk stretched across his face. “I can finally get some training in for when I thrash Albion.”

Kaido barely had time to process those words before he changed.

The lazy, almost indifferent figure of the so-called doorman erupted with power. Flames surged around his body, hotter than anything Kaido had ever felt, a swirling inferno that bent reality itself. The ground trembled beneath his feet before simply shattering under the sheer force of his growing form.

And then, Kaido saw it.

Saw him.

Where the man had stood, there was now a beast of legend—a Red Dragon, vast, colossal, towering above even Kaido’s own draconic form. His scales gleamed like molten fire, each one larger than a man. Wings, impossibly large, spread out behind him, casting the entire garden in shadow. His eyes—those golden, ancient eyes—gleamed with something otherworldly. Not just power. Confidence. The kind that came from millennia of dominance.

Kaido, for the first time in a long time, felt small.

And yet, he smiled.

This. This was what he had been searching for. Not an easy victory. Not a slaughter. A real fight.

His thunderous roar cracked the sky as he lunged, coiling his massive body, twisting through the air like a serpent striking its prey. His fangs gleamed as he barreled toward the Great Red, his Haki-infused claws tearing through the sky, ready to rip through scales and flesh alike.

Ddraig didn’t move.

He waited.

And then, at the last second—

He struck.

Faster than Kaido thought possible for something that large, Ddraig’s wing snapped forward like a blade. It wasn’t a casual swipe. It wasn’t even a counterattack. It was a statement.

Kaido barely had time to react before he was sent hurtling backward. The impact hit before the sound did—a delayed, earsplitting boom that tore through the air as Kaido’s enormous form crashed through the landscape, trees obliterating on impact, stone shattering beneath him. His vision blurred for a moment, his body registering pain he hadn’t felt in years.

And then he grinned.

With a mighty push, he coiled his body and shot forward again, lightning crackling around him. This time, he wouldn’t be careless. His Haki surged, black and crimson tendrils wrapping around his claws as he struck with everything he had.

His blow connected.

The air itself trembled as Kaido’s attack hit Ddraig’s jaw with enough force to level mountains. The sheer shockwave blasted apart the earth beneath them, golden trees snapping like twigs.

And yet.

Ddraig simply turned his head, his massive eyes locking onto Kaido.

“…That it?”

Kaido barely had time to react before Ddraig’s tail whipped forward.

It was a blur—a red comet of destruction—before it slammed into Kaido’s entire body, bending him like a ragdoll before sending him rocketing into the sky. He was airborne for several long, weightless seconds before gravity remembered him, and he plummeted back down, slamming into the earth with enough force to carve a crater into the land.

Kaido groaned, shaking his head, but before he could rise—

Ddraig was there.

His colossal form blotted out the sky, wings spread, flames curling between his teeth. And for the first time, his expression wasn’t laid-back.

It was serious.

“My turn.”

The roar that followed was unlike anything Kaido had ever heard. It was not just a sound. It was power given voice. The sky itself cracked, the clouds split apart, and the air turned to fire.

And then the flames came.

Kaido had faced fire before. He had been burned, had bathed in magma, had walked through infernos that had swallowed entire islands.

This was different.

The world disappeared in red.

Ddraig’s flames engulfed everything, a tidal wave of burning fury that swallowed the entire battlefield. It was heat beyond heat, an inferno that melted the very concept of resistance. Kaido roared, but it was lost in the sound of reality tearing apart. His vision blurred, his body screamed, his scales cracked—

And then.

Silence.

The flames receded. The sky returned. And Kaido… fell.

His massive body crashed into the earth, leaving nothing but smoke and ruin behind him. His vision swam, the edges darkening, his muscles refusing to move.

And yet—

He smiled.

It had been so long. So long since he had felt this way. Not just defeat—real battle. A fight that mattered. A fight that had pushed him beyond his limits.

His lips parted, a rasping chuckle escaping past his fangs. His body was broken, his energy spent, but his soul—his warrior’s soul—was at peace.

“Ddraig…” He breathed out the name, tasting the weight of it. Then, with one last smirk, he managed to say, “Thank you… for the fight.”

Then, for the first time in years, Kaido—the man who could not die—slipped into unconsciousness, his grin still on his face.

— — — 

The grand doors of the hotel creaked open, and Death stepped outside, adjusting the cuffs of her long, dark coat. The night air was crisp, the world quiet, save for the distant hum of life far beyond this peculiar place. She took a breath—not that she needed to, but she enjoyed the habit of it.

Then, she heard the sound. Chewing.

Turning her head, she found Greg—or Ddraig, depending on how dramatic he was feeling—leaning lazily against the entrance, absently tearing a chunk of something between his teeth. His uniform was still disgracefully unbuttoned, his fiery hair slightly tousled, and a faint trail of smoke curled lazily from his nostrils.

Death raised an eyebrow. “Huh. What are you eating now, Greg?”

He shrugged, chewing thoughtfully. “Dunno. Some dragon dude. Kinda elastic.”

Death blinked. Slowly. Her gaze drifted down to the half-eaten hunk of meat in his hand. “…A dragon?”

“Yeah.” Another bite. Another thoughtful chew.

She tilted her head. “But… aren’t you a dragon?”

Greg nodded, mouth full.

Death crossed her arms. “So it’s cannibalism?”

Greg stopped mid-chew. His golden eyes narrowed slightly as if deep in thought, rolling the idea around in his head like a particularly complicated math problem.

Then, after a long pause, he swallowed, shrugged again, and said, “Ummm… Naaaaa?”

And he kept eating.

Death just smiled, shaking her head. “Boys. Always eating…”

— — — 

Azazel landed in the middle of an open field, his wings folding neatly behind him as his boots met the grass with a soft crunch. The wind was still, the night clear, and aside from the chirping of distant crickets, the world was silent. Too silent.

Before him stood a pristine wooden house, quaint and unassuming, the kind you’d find in a postcard about rustic living. It was on fire.

Or, at least, that’s what his goggles told him.

Azazel frowned, adjusting the sleek lenses over his eyes. His instruments had been necessary just to locate this place, which was odd enough on its own. Something strong enough to kill a Phenex shouldn’t be this hard to find. And yet, here he was, staring at a completely normal little house that—by all appearances—was burning with holy fire.

Except… nothing was actually burning.

The wooden walls weren’t charring. The windows weren’t cracking. The flowers on the porch—pretty little things, blue and yellow—swayed in the breeze, completely untouched by the flames only his eyes could see.

Wait.

Azazel stiffened, his mind grinding to a halt as realization dawned.

The flames weren’t just any fire. They were Phenex flames.

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then, he spoke aloud, his voice breaking the eerie quiet.

“…What?”

The door creaked open.

Out of the frame stepped a man—tall, well-dressed, and perfectly composed. His suit was crisp, his tie immaculate, his shoes polished to a mirror shine. He had the posture of a noble, the kind of natural poise that belonged to men who had never once needed to rush for anything. His face was refined, his expression calm, and when he bowed, it was with the effortless grace of someone for whom the gesture was not a formality, but a way of life.

“Ah,” the man said, his voice smooth, polished with the elegance of another era. “A visitor. Welcome.”

Azazel, still trying to process what in the absolute hell was happening, barely managed to tilt his head in acknowledgment before the man continued.

“Tell me,” the gentleman said, his hands folding neatly in front of him, “have you come to hear about our Lord and Savior?”

Azazel’s brain short-circuited.

He had fought angels, devils, dragons, and gods. He had witnessed the fall of civilizations, brokered peace between ancient enemies, and led the Grigori through some of history’s darkest moments. He had dedicated centuries to the pursuit of knowledge, to the unraveling of mysteries that had eluded even the divine.

And yet, nothing in his long, storied existence had prepared him for the possibility that he might one day be recruited by a Jehovah’s Witness.

“…Huh,” he said, his mouth moving before his brain could catch up. “Wait. Are you—?” He motioned vaguely at the man, at the burning-not-burning house, at everything. “Is this a cult thing?”

The man only smiled.

Azazel had a very bad feeling about this.