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The first time Zoro met a Collector, he was 16.
It was his first major bounty, and he had just barely made it out on top. One of his eyes was swollen shut, his face mottled with purple and blue. His left leg was definitely broken, and he knew that he had quite a few broken ribs because it was agonizing to draw breaths in.
He lay on the floor, the head of his bounty gripped tight in his bloodied hand. He needed to make a living somehow, and if this was the way he had to do it, so be it.
He had broken one of his swords and needed a new one. It would take way too long to go after small fry, so he had gone for a big one. This resulted in him laying on the grass-covered forest floor at the night. It was silent sans the breeze that was rustling the trees. Or, had been.
It was silent now. Eerily so.
“A shame,”.
He slowly inched his head so that he could see the voice's origin.
A figure stood before him, a billowing white robe flowed behind them. The edges seemed to flicker like a flame, and the ground beneath them brightened in their presence. Zoro could not see their face, but he could feel faux calm and saddened eyes on his person.
“Wh…” He began. Blood gurgled up, and he was glad that he had rolled his head to the side. Red slipped from his mouth while he coughed.
“I am so sorry, child. It is your time to go,”.
No, no, it wasn’t. He couldn’t die until he fulfilled his promise. Until he reached his dream.
“Please do not fight, this hurts me as much as it hurts you…”
This was death? This weepy figure who seemed to mourn his life? His life that wasn’t even finished? He wasn’t done, damn it!
“N-No!” His voice cracked. A few tears welled up in his eyes, a few slipped down from the eye that was swollen shut.
“Please…Understand I cannot-”
“I’m not d-done! I won’t let you take me!” He growled through clenched teeth. His heart hammered on stubbornly.
“But…you are one of mine… I must take you with me…”
“I’m not done! I- I have to fulfill my promise!”
“No…you have to let go…it’s time…”
Zoro felt so compelled to go. The specter's calm and sorrowful voice promised luxury and safety, and yet…
“I won’t! I have things to do!”
“You will come with me,”.
The voice grew more firm, angrier. His heart pattered weakly before stopping for a moment, the urge to obey- no!
“No!” He yelled. His heart began once again.
The specter sighed before drifting over to a nearby rock and sitting down on it.
“It’s going to be like this…is it?”
He forced his eyes to the figure and glared with all his might.
“I try and be nice to kids, you know? Why do you have to be difficult?”
“I can’t! Give up!”
“So determined…I will be here until you give in. Make peace with whatever you need to…”
--
Two hours later, Zoro was lying in a puddle of his blood, still stubbornly hanging onto life.
“Look…kid…”
“No!”
--
Another hour passed. Zoro looked back at them. Their face seemed more visible, darkly-skinned with eyes as black as the night sky. Braids hung with silver adornments on either side of their head. Their hood was folded down.
“What…” He began, “Are you?”
“Mortals refer to us as reapers. Though we call ourselves Collectors,”.
“Sounds dumb…” He groaned.
“Rude,”.
“Fuck off…”
--
Another hour.
“Look, kid. This is getting hard, even for me. We aren’t supposed to be around people this long. I haven’t met someone who lasted as long as you…well. Ever. I know a Collector that has, though,” They explained. Zoro shot them a glare.
“I won’t die,”.
Another hour passed.
--
Five hours of lying in agony. Every breath was fire licking his heart, every blink dragged across his eyes like glass. Every cough was like being submerged in lava and drowning at the same time. He refused to die, he wouldn’t.
The specter stood and floated over to Zoro’s fighting form.
“There’s a way we go about things. I told myself I would never do this-”
“I won’t die!”
“Kid, I get that. I told myself I would never make this offer…but…”
The Collector lowered their hand. Silver rings containing stars glinted against the early morning sunrise.
“No one has lasted this long with me…And you are incredibly young…I feel I have no other option but to make a deal…”
The word slipped from their mouth like an iceberg breaking from a glacier. It was echoing, it was deep. It impacted. This was not a word meant to be taken lightly, that was definite.
“A…deal?” Zoro murmured. He eyed their hand suspiciously, it was smooth. So smooth, so unnatural. From a distance, it might appear human. But at this vicinity? It was doll-like.
“A deal,” They echoed.
“What…kind of deal?”
“Collectors are permitted a…messenger of sorts. A mortal- Only one. Five hours past their due, a mortal becomes an ideal vessel for the powers beyond. None besides their patron collector may collect their soul, and none besides themself can speak to Collectors of the beyond when not dead-set. A Quasi-Collector is a mortal who has been cursed with the duty of a Collector. The duty to harvest souls on behalf of their patron collector, to gain powers close to the scale of a Collector, to procure their own life, and their patrons,” The collector explained. The way they spoke was eloquent as if something long-rehearsed.
A few blinks thereafter and a hand to their head showed, no, it wasn’t. It was something more supernatural than that.
“I don’t want…powers…” Zoro growled.
“I had a feeling you would say that. You do not have to use them,” The collector shrugged. Their hands were folded behind their back nonchalantly.
“Why would it procure your life?” Zoro asked after a few moments of consideration.
“The more souls we collect, the longer we survive. The younger, the more life,”.
“You came for me because-”
“I came for you for your life, yes. I also came for you because some Collectors go specifically for children. To taunt them in their dying moments. They are so old that they have lost all sympathy. It happens to be that I do not like this, and I would rather not torment children,”.
“I’m not a child…” He huffed.
“And I’m not a being beyond your comprehension of space, do we have a deal?” They brought their hand out again, kneeling beside his dying body. The swirling stars in their rings were hypnotizing. Zoro looked away.
“Not like ‘m going to use them…What are the powers?” He asked. Despite how much he may want to believe it, his curiosity was childish. The way he pretended not to be was even more so.
“Basic phasing, life-leaching, shadow manipulation, plant control, and, of course, persuasion,”.
“How is…persuasion a power?”
“It is time to go, Zoro,”.
Zoro’s heart stuttered to a standstill, but once again he grits his teeth and wills it to begin.
“Fuck- ok. I get it. Persuasion is a power,”.
“So..what do you say?”
Their hand was still outreached, but it came closer. Slowly, Zoro released his death grip on the head of his bounty. Its hair stayed still, dried into the shape it had been forced into by callused boyish hands.
“I’m doing this because I need to get out of here…this is my quickest way, right?”
“Yes, your injuries will heal upon our pact being formed. I will appear to you when need be, from here after. You may call me if you need my assistance,”.
Zoro finally brought his hand up, the appendage shaking. The rays of first morning light bathed his hand as it slowly reached up. The Collector’s hand moved forward similarly until it was firmly grasping his own. Their hand dwarfed his.
“Roronoa Zoro. From hereafter, you are not quite human. You are not quite Collector. You are a Quasi-Collector,”.
Their hand was as warm as a fire in a log cabin. As soft as a well-groomed cat. As firm as an honored warrior.
“My name is Jolon. I am your patron Collector,”.
His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he passed out.
--
Later, when Zoro would awaken, he would find his wounds healed with limited scarring. He would also find an intricate yet small white mark on his wrist. A dead tree, roots reaching down until they slowly faded to nothing. It was not noticeable unless looked for, at least.
The next time Zoro would meet a Collector, or rather, two Collectors was two months later.
He was walking through a ghost town of sorts, completely bare of life. It seemed like a plague of some sort had swept through because there were bodies covered in black sores strewn around. Zoro stepped over a woman who was holding a bundle of cloth close to her chest (He couldn’t detect life from either). He rounded a corner, and in front of him?
Two Collectors arguing over the body of a child.
“I was here first!” The first pointed a finger to her chest. She had short blue hair that licked into similarly colored flames upwards. Her face was crewed up tight with freckles that swirled like a galaxy. Her robe was the same pure white as Jolon’s.
“Trident has been scoping this place out for months! Trident has a claim to the best lives!”
“Well, if Trident keeps talking in the third person, Trident is going to get his ass beat!” The blue-haired Collector poked at the other’s chest. He grasped her hand with his own, pushing it down.
“Trident will do as he pleases!” Trident growled. His shaved head of red hair caught the reflecting light of hers and shifted into the same blue. His clawed hands grasped around nothing before a sword as black as shadows appeared in it.
“Oh, you are asking for it!” She screeched. She reached behind herself and a bo staff made of a similar material appeared.
The two clashed, trading blows with grunts and yells. When they were far enough away from the suffering boy on the floor, Zoro approached. He crouched next to the boy, who opened a tear-filed eye to look at him.
“Sorry kid, I’ll make it quick,” He murmured before pulling Wado Ichimonji from its sheath. He made a quick slice, and the child’s head separated from his body with a grateful smile.
“Hey! That mortal took my life!”
“No, that mortal took Triden’ts life!”
Zoro stood, using his cleaning cloth to wipe down Wado before sheathing it.
“He’s dead!”
And perhaps he would be if he was as mortal as they believed. The bo staff ripped through his form, while the sword stuck into his chest. It was an odd sensation. He did not bleed, nor did he feel pain. The shadow weapons phased out right before they would have made contact with his body, their blackness sucking in the light of the area.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding!”
Zoro looked up at the two of them with an unimpressed expression.
“Who’s Quasi are you? We have a few words to exchange!”
“That was Trident’s life you mutt!”
Zoro just furrowed his brow, walking away from the weapons and crossing his arms.
“You should have taken the kid’s life when you had the chance, instead of arguing. And why the fuck should I tell you who made me a Quasi? That’s not your business,” He crossed his arms. Wado positively purred at the tension.
“You fucking-” Trident began, but he was grabbed by the hood of his robe by the other Collector. Her pitch-black eyes were narrowed dangerously.
“We can’t hurt him, idiot. There’s no use. We can always find more kids to collect,”.
Trident shook himself from her hold, glaring at her before glaring at him one final time.
“Whatever,” He huffed.
The woman and Trident disappeared in a swirl of blue flames and crystalline structures respectively moments later.
Zoro looked around at the barren town around him. He could detect no life, they were all gone. After another quick glance around, he spotted a general shop. He grabbed up a box of matches, candles, a few fruits, and a few things for himself.
He set the candles on the ground along with the fruits before lighting the wicks of the candles alight with the matches. He was not a particularly religious person, he never had been, but after his run in Jolon, he had taken to learning a few respectful ways to honor innocent lives.
The candle’s flames flickered white and his mark glowed as he pressed his palms together and bowed his head to the make-do shrine. He could hear soft sobbing and a few whispered ‘Thank you’s as he did so, before the wind swept through. The candles (half burnt through, how quick) were blown out. The fruits before him were shriveled and dried.
Zoro stood, bowing once more to the shrine before walking away from the town.
The third time he meets a Collector was two years later. Actually, it was Jolon.
Tied up to post in the middle of a Marine yard, Zoro had closed his eyes for a moment, and when he next opened them, Jolon was standing across from him with their hands behind their back.
“I had wondered why you had stopped supplying me with lives,”.
Zoro rolled his eyes at the tone.
“Why have you not escaped yet, kid? You easily could,”.
“I made a deal. I have ten days left, and then I’ll leave,”.
“You won’t survive even two more in your current state,”.
Zoro narrowed his eyes. He didn’t believe that, and his beliefs were justified, as Jolon sighed.
“Ok, you wouldn’t survive if you were a normal mortal. But you are my Quasi…speaking of which…You ran into Trident and Mirial a few years back, did you not?”
Trident and Mirial? Were those the names of those Collectors that had been fighting over that boy?
Zoro nodded his head jerkily.
“I had a feeling. There aren’t many Quasi around, maybe about twenty? Whatever, there aren’t many Quasi, much less one with green hair and three swords. It wasn’t hard to figure out who they were complaining about! I wouldn’t be surprised if the next Collector you met tried to force you to tell them who your patron is!” They laughed.
“I wouldn’t tell ‘em, even if they did. I only collect lives for you because I want to live,” Zoro reminded. Jolon just smiled warmly and shut their eyes.
“I know, kid. You are so very different from your fellow Quasi,”.
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
Jolon vocalized their confusion.
“Kid,” Zoro specified.
“Because you are one,” Jolon shrugged. They floated over, leaning against an invisible wall. They lowered their hood, revealing their decorated braids.
“I’m not. I’m 19!”
“Exactly! You are still a child!”
“I’m an adult!” Zoro huffed. He scowled at Jolon, the Collector simply smiling. Their smile was a bit strained against the scar on their cheek.
“That scar, where did you get it?”
Jolon’s eyes widened a smidge and they lifted a ring-adorned hand to his cheek before lowering it.
“Don’t worry about that, kid. It’s old,”.
“I’m not a kid!”
Jolon approached putting a hand on top of his head. Instantly, Zoro was washed by a cool feeling that relieved him of the sun. The sunburns blanketing his bare skin melted away, revealing the soft new skin beneath. He felt cleaner, the scabs across him disappearing along with the dirt and muck that had been building up over the weeks.
Zoro unconsciously leaned into the touch, pressing his bandana-covered head into their larger hand.
“You’re a good kid, Zoro. I have to go now, lives won’t take themselves!”
Jolon patted his head twice before removing their hand and allowing the power of the sun to once again beat down on him.
“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here already,” Zoro scowled at them, but there was that hint of amusement there, for sure. Jolon waved once before vanishing in a swirl of leaves. The leaves in question vanished before they could touch the ground in a spray of silver.
--
“Luffy! He’s dangerous! We have to go!”
What now?
t hadn’t even been a full week before he next saw Jolon.
He was sinking into the ocean. Wado Ichimonji was gripped tightly in his hands, the dimming light of the day glinting against the blade even in water. Beams of sunlight pierced the water around him, haloing him as he drifted. Blood clouded the water in a line. It reminded him of the tail of a bird, the way it waved with every subtle shift in calm water was like the small change in a movement when a bird steered itself.
“Kid…”
Zoro let tired eyes drift to the form floating beside him. Jolon’s robe was seemingly unaffected by the water, still flickering like flames.
Zoro could not respond, but he narrowed his eyes. The fire inside him, although dampened by the distance that he realized he still had to go, was strong.
“You take my ability to heal for granted…" Jolon sighed. They reached out a hand, but Zoro shook his head.
“You don’t want me to heal you?”
Zoro shook his head again. His earrings clinked against each other. This was a reminder. This was a reason to keep going. It meant nothing if he could not take the consequences of his actions. This was a symbol of his determination, his ambition.
“I admire you, kid. I really do,”.
A splash from above, another followed closely behind. Zoro looked past Jolon to see Johnny and Yosaku rapidly approaching. Their eyes were wide and rapidly looking between Zoro and Jolon.
“Don’t get this close to dying again, kid,” Jolon sighed. They ruffled their hand through his hair before disappearing in a familiar swirl of leaves. The silver dust left behind floated upwards before vanishing.
Johnny and Yosaku hefted him up onto a boat not long after, and Zoro raised Wado to the sky.
He pledged himself to his captain, to the future Pirate King.
It was a few months later when Jolon reappeared.
“That woman,” They began suddenly, Zoro nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled around to come face-to-hood with Jolon.
“What woman?” Zoro asked after a second of calming down.
“Nico Robin,”.
“You ain’t collecting her,”.
“Oh, I wasn’t planning on it. That’s not why I’ve brought her up…”
Zoro raised an eyebrow when no further explanation was given.
“She knows what you are. I can feel it,” Jolon murmured. The full moon’s face grinned down on the two.
“She knows? How could she know?”
“I believe she was offered to become a Quasi. Let’s see…Many years ago, I heard that a Collector had not waited five hours before trying to take a Quasi. He perished, but the child had touched him before his death and gained some of his knowledge. That is how our lives may end, and that is always a possibility. We knew she had collected some because his memory stores were…not complete,”.
“...Right…but how would she know I’m a Quasi?”
“His memories of our signs were missing. I have a feeling she saw my sign on your wrist and drew her conclusions from that…” Jolon speculated.
Zoro grunted at that, looking down at his wrist. The mark shimmered under the full moon, holographic at night as it was. Zoro could feel the shadows being cast by his wrist on the crow's nest sing.
“Am I supposed to do something about that?” He asked.
Jolon sat on the edge of the crow’s nest and brought a hand to their chin in thought.
“No, not really. Just something I noticed, really. You may do with that information as you like,” Jolon shrugged.
Zoro looked back out at the ocean.
“Would you like to hear an old Collector’s tale?” Jolon fidgeted with the rings on their fingers absentmindedly. Their head was titled up at the moon.
“Sure,” The swordsman nodded.
“It’s said that the moon fathers Collectors. We are born only at night as the full moon watches, and it's said that the moon gifts us with our abilities. The sun grew jealous of the moon and attempted to make children of his own. He failed every time, and his rage grew with every failed child. One day, the sun reached his breaking point and cursed all Collectors. Legend tells that at one time, Collectors did not need to collect lives to survive. We merely cultivated and harvested feelings, but when we were cursed, lives need to be taken,”.
Zoro looked over at Jolon. The Collector held a ring with an image of the moon in between their fingers.
“Good story,” Zoro comments.
“Truly. It is a story ingrained in our society, many think it to be true,”.
“Are you one of them?”
“Once. When I was a much younger Collector,” Jolon chuckled. They slipped their ring back on, stroking the stone in the center with a thumb.
They both stared off into the sky in comfortable silence. Eventually, Zoro settled against the wall of the Crow’s nest while looking out. He hadn’t even realized he was falling asleep, but before he shut his eyes, he felt a hand on his head and heard someone wish him sweet dreams.
Jolon was a Collector. They had not always been a Collector, but they were one now, and that was what mattered. When they awoke, they were blanketed in a robe made of the stars themselves, and with eyes, as pitch black as the night sky they floated in.
Jolon knew what had become of them the moment they awoke, their Patron had made sure to tell them as much while they had lain bleeding out one final time. They would convince themself over the years that they would never adopt a Quasi. They were powerful, one of the most powerful Collectors to ever exist.
And yet, as they watched a young boy bleeding out, they felt something deep inside. Sympathy. They could feel the conviction, the determination. And it was not fading as it was supposed to, it was growing. The boy’s ambition was a blazing inferno overtaking his dying body, and Jolon watched.
They told themself they just wanted to see. They just wanted to see if the boy could survive the five hours. And as the hours passed, and as Jolon reviewed the boy’s memories, they felt their soul tug. They related to this dream. There was a time when they wanted to be the best. Not a swordsman, but a marksman. Their duel with the best had ended in their ultimate demise, but they had thrived in every moment approaching it. Their determination, though? It was nowhere near as strong as this boy.
So when the five-hour mark was up, they made their offer. They were not disappointed when the boy claimed he would never use the powers, they were overjoyed. This was everything they had ever hoped for in a person.
So it was to their shock when the unused line linking their power to their Quasi was suddenly tugged on. Hard.
In an instant they abandoned their prey in a flash of leaves and silver, landing on a crumbling rooftop.
There, they saw Zoro.
He was one of two standing in a field of broken stones and even more broken people, trembling before a hulk of a man. Jolon recognized the man as a member of the Seven Warlords.
The Warlord was straining against a plethora of greying roots that were tightly wrapped around his limbs.
Jolon looked closer at his Quasi. Covered in blood, both his own and not, many many bones were broken within his body. The mark on his wrist positively glowed with power, the roots extending deeper down his forearm and continuing to extend. His eyes were the same as them, the black void of space, pinched into a tight angry expression. His Quasi was holding back tears.
The Collector could feel the shame rolling away from Zoro. Shame and anger at having to use the powers he claimed he would never need to use. Jolon knew Zoro knew they were there. They could only hope that Zoro could feel the comfort and desperate attempt to calm him they were pushing.
“You are no Devil Fruit user, how are you performing this?” Kuma’s voice was dull and empty. It lacked what so many had- emotion.
Zoro did not answer. Instead, his Quasi reached out his hand with the mark and pulled.
Kuma lurched forward, expression suddenly surprised. The warlord pulled back, then, using full strength to break from the hold of the roots wrapped around him.
Jolon could feel the rush of life suddenly striking them, and he knew Zoro could feel it too because his Quasi stumbled back and the black in his eyes dripped away like demonic tears. The roots of the mark on his wrist began to recede, and Zoro jumped away from a beam of light fired at him by the Warlord.
Jolon couldn’t watch this. They vanished in a flash of leaves.
--
Jolon reappeared minutes later in a clearing. They immediately noted the blood staining the ground beneath them, and in the center? Their Quasi.
“Sorry…” Zoro coughed.
“Kid, you have nothing to apologize for….” Jolon murmured, floating closer. They reached out a hand, before retracting it and giving him a once over.
“I fear…If I attempt to heal you now…your soul may try to escape your body…”
“It won't…”
“Zoro…I know you may think that, but-”
“GET AWAY FROM HIM!” A new voice yelled with the fury of the sun, a panicked voice half obscured by a mess of blonde hair the origin. Jolon could smell an overdue death upon him, and yet, at the same time, one that could not be collected. Judging by the scent, it had happened during a time in which the Collectors were completely drowning in lives that needed to be collected. This was likely one of the ones that had escaped their collection.
“San..ji…?” Blood splattered against their Quasi’s lip.
“Please do not get those horrible again, kid. You’re lucky you have people,” Jolon raised their hood over their head, glancing back at the human that looked utterly stuck on a decision.
“Take care of him. He is a fool,” Jolon asked of the human. His swirled brow raised in surprise and his mouth parted in shock.
Jolon disappeared in a slower wisp of leaves and stardust, no trace left once again.
Zoro would collapse in Sanji’s arms moments later, dead to the world and cradled in his mindscape.
--
When Zoro woke up next, he recognized the infirmary of the Sunny. An attempt to sit up made him groan in pain, attracting the attention of whoever was sitting next to him. Which happened to be the shit cook, of all people.
The man simply held a glass of water to his mouth and gently tipped it back. Zoro drank greedily, looking over at the blonde once finished. Sanji was wearing a hoodie, not something he had ever seen the cook in before. Sanji was also wearing a face that made it appear as if he had just seen a ghost.
“Shit…cook?”
“How did you survive a reaper?”
Ah…fuck. That was right, Sanji had been there. Had carried him too, if his memory was to be trusted.
“Not…reapers. Collectors…” Zoro corrected after a few much-needed deep breaths.
“What?”
“Collectors. That’s what they actually are called. We call ‘em reapers,”.
“Well, I don't give a fuck what they are called. How did you survive it?”
“They and I have a…deal. I guess,” Zoro rotated his wrist with the mark. It happened to be his mostly uninjured wrist, only a large bandaid stuck on top of a large slash wound. The mark was not difficult to see in the fluorescent lighting of the infirmary.
Sanji stared at the mark. Zoro knew the crew had always had their suspicions about it, but when asked if it was a tattoo by Usopp one night, he had said no. No one really knew what to ask after that.
“A deal?”
“Yeah,”.
Sanji prodded at the mark, rotating it himself when he noticed its holographic nature. He scowled before dropping it back to the bed.
“Whatever. As long as you aren’t…going to croak. Whatever,” Sanji crossed his arms. His fingers grasped at the edges of his sleeves, and it was clear that he wanted nothing more than to have a cigarette in his grasp.
Zoro just sighed and shut his eyes.
His dreams were filled with the moon and the stars glowing upon him, lifting the pain away and allowing him salvation.