"Damn it…"
Golden Lion staggered upright amidst the wreckage of a shattered ship. His body swayed, his vision swimming, and for a moment he nearly collapsed again.
The sea around him was a graveyard.
Waves tossed endless wreckage—splintered hulls, broken masts, corpses bobbing like refuse. His painstakingly rebuilt Flying Pirates Fleet, the force he had gathered with such effort, the pride of his ambitions—gone. Annihilated once more, as if fate itself mocked him.
His eyes turned instinctively toward the center of it all.
The Oro Jackson.
Amid the drifting ruins, the Roger Pirates' ship still clung to life. Its mast was snapped, sails reduced to ragged cloth, hull battered full of holes, the bow a mangled ruin of splintered wood.
Yet it lived.
Crafted from the wood of the Adam Tree by the great shipwright Tom, the Oro Jackson had endured the storm. The core of its body—unyielding. Indestructible.
Its crew clung to the deck, faces pale, breaths ragged, but alive.
"…We… we almost died…"
Buggy sprawled on the planks, waterlogged and trembling, his skin white as chalk. Rayleigh had him by the scruff like a wet cat, his own face grim, every breath heavy. The rest of the crew looked no better—half-drowned, gasping like fish.
"Hahahahaha!!!"
Their captain sat on the splintered prow, soaked to the bone, his chest heaving as he threw his head back in wild laughter.
"We survived!" Roger roared, his voice raw but exultant.
"Damn it all—we even survived this!"
His laughter was unrestrained, defiant, the kind of laugh that spat in death's face.
The crew glanced at him, then at one another—before their own weary grins broke through. Relief burst like sunlight through storm clouds. Laughter followed, raw and cracked, but alive.
Yes. They had lived.
The Oro Jackson was broken, but not destroyed. They still had a ship. They still had each other.
And Shiki's fleet… was gone.
The storm had rewritten their battle in an instant.
But the reprieve didn't last.
"Kill them all!"
"Crush Roger's crew!"
"Bring down Golden Lion!"
"For Justice!"
The sky erupted in cannon fire.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Shells tore through the heavens, blazing arcs of fire raining down. Explosions thundered across the waves.
"Marines?!" Rayleigh's eyes narrowed, sharp as steel.
The crew froze, terror surging anew. Dodging frantically, they looked to the horizon.
One battleship.
Two.
Three.
Ten.
A wall of iron surged toward them, white sails snapping in the gale. The word Justice burned black across them, bold and merciless.
A tide of war, bearing down upon them.
"Marines!! We're finished!!" Buggy shrieked, eyes bulging, body shaking as cannon blasts lit the sea. "It's the Marine fleet—they've come for us!"
"How… how the hell did they even find us?!"
Seagull flags whipped in the wind, banners of inevitability.
Roger's gaze cut through the flames, locking onto a familiar figure at the lead ship's prow.
"…Sengoku."
"And those brats," Rayleigh muttered, jaw tight.
"C-Captain! And— and the guy who stole your pants!!" Buggy squealed, pointing a trembling finger at the towering Marine on the flagship.
Roger's brow twitched. "…Can you just let it go already?! It was an accident!!"
Shanks clutched the splintered mast, panting hard, his eyes locked on Darren. His face was pale, teeth grit. He remembered. He remembered the terror of nearly dying at that man's hand—the closest brush with death he'd ever had.
"This is bad…" Rayleigh muttered, blades flashing as he cleaved incoming cannonballs from the air. "Even Sengoku's here."
"Don't worry!" Roger bellowed with reckless cheer. "If it's just Sengoku, he can't stop us!"
He laughed heartily, though his crew twitched at the timing of his words.
"As long as that bastard Garp doesn't—"
"Bwahahaha!! Roger!!"
The laughter crashed over them like thunder.
Every Roger Pirate stiffened at once.
Roger's grin froze.
"…Don't tell me."
The sea split as another battleship surged forward—its bow carved in the shape of a dog's head. At the prow stood a massive Marine Vice Admiral, arms crossed, dog-headed helm gleaming in the stormlight.
Vice Admiral Garp.
The Hero of the Marines.
His booming laugh rolled across the waves, eyes burning as he locked on Roger.
"Bwahahaha! So you really picked the third route after all!"
Buggy's shriek cracked through the din:
"Even Garp's here?! We're doomed—we're really doomed!!"
Rayleigh's knuckles whitened around his blades. Shivers ran the length of the crew's spines.
Surrounded again.
Trapped.
From the wreckage, a voice split the chaos.
"Damn you… Marines!"
Golden Lion.
He staggered upright, rage burning through his veins. His eyes blazed, veins bulging as he glared at the Marine fleet.
But when he tried to step forward, the world spun.
A searing pain ripped through his skull, white-hot, unbearable.
"What…?"
His hand flew to his head—and froze.
Something cold. Hard. Metal.
His fingers brushed it, and his pupils shrank violently.
Drip.
Warm blood slid down his face, seeping into his eye, down his cheek, and onto the deck in red droplets.
His vision blurred crimson.
Golden Lion staggered back, horror creeping across his face as pain tore deeper into his skull.
Had… had something pierced his head?!
He looked down at the Meito clenched in his trembling hands. The blade's sheen reflected his warped expression.
And then he realized.
Not pierced.
Embedded.
Wedged into him like a grotesque crown.
A pitch-black ship's wheel.
To be continued...