Ace and Isshin, having propelled themselves across the sea, made landfall not at the polite, guarded docks, but by simply blasting a hole through a seaside wall of hardened caramel.
They emerged into the chateau's cavernous kitchen, a place of delightful chaos filled with sentient utensils and panicked chef-homies.
"Alright, new plan," Ace said, his fists already wreathed in flame, a wide, excited grin on his face. "We make as much noise as possible. Draw their attention down here. Give Gunnar some breathing room."
"A sound strategy," Isshin agreed, his katana already in hand. "The objective is to create a clear path of egress for their escape."
"Right. A path," Ace grinned. "Let's make it a big one."
He moved through the chateau's lower corridors like a living inferno, his Fire Fists melting jam-and-biscuit walls, his Fire Pillars erupting from the floors to send Chess Soldiers flying.
They fought their way upward, a rising tide of fire and steel. They heard the sounds of Gunnar's chaos.
"Sounds like he's having all the fun," Ace yelled over the roar of his own flames as he incinerated a platoon of charging pawns.
"He is merely clearing the stage," Isshin replied calmly, parrying a blow from a hulking bishop before dispatching it with a lightning-fast thrust to its core. "We must prepare the exit."
They finally burst through a set of double doors and found themselves on the edge of the grand courtyard. The sight before them was breathtaking. The entire area was a frozen, shattered wasteland, littered with the sweet, broken remains of hundreds of soldiers. And in the center of it all stood Gunnar, leaning on a massive, ice-coated greatsword, his chest heaving.
He looked over as they arrived, a cold, weary smirk on his face. "Took you long enough. I was starting to get bored."
Ace whistled, looking around at the absolute carnage. "Bored? it's a massacre. You left any for us?"
"The main course is still inside," Gunnar growled, gesturing with the sword toward the chateau. He straightened up, his wounds screaming in protest. "Let's go."
---
The reunion was a frantic, whispered affair. They rendezvoused with Pudding, who led them to the hidden birthing room where Smoothie was being kept safe. The moment Smoothie saw Ace and Isshin, her eyes filled with relief. The cavalry was here.
"We don't have time," Gunnar said, his voice urgent. He scooped Smoothie up into his arms, his movements surprisingly gentle. "Pudding, you and the nurses—you know the fastest way out of here. To the coast where we hid the tribute ship. Lead the way."
Pudding, still terrified but now caught up in the impossible hope of it all, nodded. "Follow me! The west wing kitchens lead to a service tunnel that goes straight to the cliffs!"
They burst from the service tunnel onto a cliff path overlooking the dark, churning sea. Below, hidden in a rocky cove, was the peanut-shell tribute ship. It seemed they had done it.
They scrambled down the path and onto the deck of the small vessel. Ace immediately began unfurling the sail. Isshin took a defensive stance at the gangplank. Gunnar gently set Smoothie down, her back against the mast.
"We did it," Pudding breathed, a look of pure disbelief on her face.
Smoothie grabbed Gunnar's hand, her grip tight. "You came."
"Always," he replied, his voice soft.
A wave of relief washed over them. Laughter, shaky and exhausted, bubbled up. They had walked into the lion's den and were about to walk out with the lion's daughter.
It was then that a calm, feminine voice echoed from the shadows of the ship's small cabin.
"My, my. What a touching reunion."
They all froze. From the darkened doorway of the cabin, a figure emerged. Charlotte Brûlée, her face split by a sinister grin, held a small, ornate mirror in her hand.
And standing beside her, looking completely unharmed and sipping from a cup of tea, was Pekoms.
"Pekoms, you traitor!" Ace snarled, his hands igniting.
Pekoms just sighed, adjusting his sunglasses. "Gao. It wasn't personal, Fire Fist. Mama's orders are absolute. And my loyalty is to her, not to the people who kidnap me."
From the surface of the mirror in Brûlée's hand, a figure began to emerge, stepping out as if from a doorway. Tall, imposing, his gaze cold and calculating.
Katakuri.
He stepped onto the deck, his presence instantly sucking all the warmth and hope out of the air. He wasn't bruised. He wasn't bleeding. He looked as if the earlier battle had never happened.
"You didn't really think," Katakuri said, his voice a low, toneless rumble, "that I would let you leave?"
Gunnar pushed Smoothie behind him, his body tensing, every wound screaming in protest. Ace and Isshin spun around, their backs to the sea.