One minute earlier, aboard the Oro Jackson:
"Captain Roger! This so-called intel is obviously fake!" Buggy hopped furiously around the deck, his disembodied head orbiting Roger, who was casually picking his nose. A swollen bump throbbed on Buggy's forehead. "If there were really a Road Poneglyph on some random deserted island, we wouldn't have had to suffer through Totto Land!"
At that, the crew couldn't help recalling their recent ordeal. From the moment they trespassed into Big Mom's waters, Homies had hounded them in endless waves. Those nightmarish things were everywhere, watching, reporting—driving them from one skirmish to the next. When they finally broke into Whole Cake Island, the crew—exhausted and frayed—brawled their way through Big Mom's pirates, nearly leveling half the island before Buggy, seizing the chaos, slipped into Whole Cake Chateau and copied her Road Poneglyph.
Retreat should have been next.
But once Big Mom discovered the theft, she snapped. Pouring the power of the Soul-Soul Fruit into the sea, she raised a tsunami that could drown an island. They survived by a hair—thanks only to the Oro Jackson's air cannon.
They had barely cleared Totto Land when Roger, out of nowhere, declared they were heading straight for a deserted island.
This has to be a trap, Buggy thought bleakly. If a Poneglyph were really out there, Big Mom or Kaido would've taken it already.
"Hahaha! Buggy, there are four Road Poneglyphs. We need all four to find the coordinates to the Final Island!" Roger boomed, waving aside the concern.
"But what if it's a fake?!" Buggy clutched his head, nearly in tears. "What if the Marines leaked it on purpose—laid a hundred traps and are waiting for us to blunder into them?"
Roger paused, frowning, absently combing his mustache. "You mean the Marines might be lying in wait?"
"Exactly!" Buggy's face lit. "Captain's finally listening to me!"
"That is a problem…" Roger mused. Then his eyes sparked. "Buggy, are you saying… Garp might be there too?"
Buggy froze, lips twitching. Before he could answer, Roger sprang to his feet, eyes blazing. "Even better!" He laughed. "Last time on Fish-Man Island my ship was too battered to give Garp a proper fight!"
"..."
The crew collectively palmed their faces.
"We're dead," Buggy whimpered, turning to the mast and quietly sobbing.
"It's fine, Buggy," Shanks said, helpless, patting his shoulder.
"If it's Garp, no problem," another crewman said, oddly relieved. "Let the Captain have his fun." After all, Garp was a familiar rival. He smiled faintly. "As long as we don't run into that Marine—"
BOOM.
Before he could finish, a crushing aura exploded from the island ahead—suffocating, hell-heavy. Crimson-black lightning ripped across the sky, staining sea and cloud alike. The heavens fractured; waves rose in roaring walls.
The Oro Jackson lurched. Faces blanched. Shanks and Buggy turned ashen.
It wasn't only the Conqueror's Haki that sent their knees loose and stomachs dropping. It was the presence itself—impossible to mistake.
"This is all your fault, Shanks!!" Buggy shrieked, eyes bloodshot as he seized Shanks by the collar. Shanks clamped a hand over his own mouth, staring in horror at the domineering silhouette on the shore.
"Little brat Darren!!"
Roger planted himself at the bow, fury and battle-lust blazing in his eyes. His crimson coat snapped in the tempest raised by that Haki.
"It's you!"
Rayleigh, Gaban, and the others went rigid; any ease they had felt evaporated. Wariness flooded their faces as a heavy shadow settled on their hearts. No one had forgotten Fish-Man Island—or the humiliation this treacherous Marine had handed them. The memory of that massive, pitch-black blade nearly cleaving the Oro Jackson in two still made them flinch. Even a glancing strike had crippled the ship so badly they'd sold almost everything to pay for repairs—and choked down a week of nothing but Sea King meat for the trouble.
"Yo, Roger… looks like you got your ship patched up."
The Marine Vice Admiral grinned from the island's shore.
Under Doflamingo's stunned gaze, he began to rise into the air.
He loosed his Haki without restraint. Short black hair and white cloak snapped and whipped; his eyes burned with a cold, world-scorning arrogance.
"Take me down, and the Poneglyph on this island is yours."
He spread his arms. Blue arcs braided and hissed between his fingers.
A chill crawled the length of every spine aboard the Oro Jackson, as if a thousand eyes had fixed on them.
One…
Two…
Three…
Four…
Behind the hovering Vice Admiral, four blades of legend—each fit to rule the seas—shimmered into being, points down in a perfect row:
Kogarashi.
Oto.
Ame no Habakiri.
Enma.
Most warriors would boast a lifetime for wielding even one. Now all four bowed to the black-haired Marine's will, bared like a beast's fangs seeking throats.
The tips lifted as one—aiming straight at the onrushing Oro Jackson.
In that instant—every pupil aboard the Roger Pirates pinpricked to a dot, and every hair on their bodies stood on end.
To be continued...