The Davy Back Fight.
To the world, it was a spectacular, clash of Emperors, a game to decide the fate of Fish-Man Island. "Big News" Morgans was having the single greatest journalistic week of his life.
But aboard the Saber of Xebec, hidden in the tumultuous currents a day's sail from Elbaf, the game was nothing more than a smokescreen.
"Zehahahahaha! Look at them! The son of Roger and that old hag Linlin, racing to a party like children chasing candy!" Davy D. Teach roared, the newspaper crumpled in his massive fist. His laughter was a low, greedy rumble that vibrated through the deck.
Beside him, Miss Bakkin cackled, her small, wrinkled face a mask of avaricious glee. "Maaama-mamama, that old fool Linlin fell for it perfectly. While they play their games, we will claim the prize."
"The prize isn't an island, you old witch," Teach sneered, his grin turning predatory. "It's a kingdom. An army of giants."
He turned to his assembled commanders, his eyes gleaming with a mad, opportunistic light. "For fourteen years, this island has been without a true king, ruled by a council of elders too bound by tradition to act. Their honorable King Harald is dead, allegedly murdered by his own son. But that son is still locked in the dungeons below. An ambitious, cunning son. A true king who understood that honor is just a pretty word for weakness, and that power must be taken."
He spread his arms wide, revealing his masterstroke. "Prince Loki, the 'Accursed Prince' they call him! He was a boy after my own father's heart! He tried to kill his own father to claim Elbaf's legendary Devil Fruit and ally with the Rocks Pirates! But he failed. My father fell at God Valley, and the giants used the chaos to imprison their prince for life, branding him the 'Shame of Elbaf'."
He looked towards the distant, storm-shrouded silhouette of the giant island. "Loki has been rotting in a dungeon beneath the World Tree for decades, but his will remains. I am my father's heir. I have come to uphold that old promise."
The plan was a masterpiece of treachery. While the world watched the Davy Back Fight, while Ace and Big Mom were distracted by their ridiculous contest, Blackbeard's infiltration team would move.
"Shiryu," Teach commanded, looking at the swordsman who was now little more than a shimmer in the air. "You know what to do. The chaos of their game is your cover. Free the Prince. Give him the gift I prepared for him." He held up a strange, giant warhammer. "And tell him... the son of his old admirer has come to collect on a debt."
Ace's fleet arrived at Elbaf, and the world seemed to shrink. The island was a single, colossal landmass, dominated by a sky-piercing World Tree so massive it had its own weather system. The scale of it made even the Moby Dick look like a child's toy. This was a land of gods.
Their welcome was not a warm one. They were immediately met by a formidable party of giant warriors who formed a living wall of rune-etched shields, blocking their path. The leader, a stern-faced giant with a massive, grey beard and eyes as hard as stone, stepped forward.
"State your purpose in the land of Elbaf, pirates," the giant's voice boomed, a low rumble of authority and suspicion.
The atmosphere was hostile. Ace, realizing they were seen as little more than invaders, stepped forward from the prow of the Moby Dick. "We are the Burning Crown Pirates," he declared, his voice clear and steady. "We are here to participate in the Davy Back Fight."
The grey-bearded giant scoffed. "We honor tradition. That does not mean we welcome the troubles of the outside world." He looked them over, his gaze dismissive. "You are not welcome here."
Ace didn't flinch. He reached into his coat and produced the small, intricately carved wooden rune given to him by Shanks. He held it up. "We come as friends of 'the Red-Hair'."
The giant's eyes widened in recognition. The hostile wall of shields lowered. The leader's stern expression softened into one of formal, stoic respect. "A Token of the Red-Hair," he said, his voice now a low rumble of acknowledgment. "Forgive our caution. You are honored guests." He introduced himself as Regent Jarl.
The pirates were escorted to the great hall. Regent Jarl explained the grim political situation. "King Harald is dead," he stated, the words a heavy wound on the kingdom's honor. "A national tragedy we blame on his son, Loki. The kingdom is on high alert. We are deeply displeased with Charlotte Linlin's presence. We will be judges," Jarl's eyes turned to stone, "and we will ensure honor is maintained."
As they were being shown to their designated grounds, Ace used his Observation Haki. He felt the overwhelming honor of the giants, but underneath it, coming from deep within the roots of the World Tree, he sensed a deep, cold well of resentment and malice. A sleeping serpent.
The horizon turned a sickly sweet pink. The entire fleet of the Big Mom Pirates, a grotesque and overwhelming armada of singing, candy-coated ships, blotted out the sun. This was not the escort of an Emperor coming for a game; it was the full, terrifying force of a nation on the march. Charlotte Linlin herself stomped ashore, her three Sweet Commanders flanking her like harbingers of a sugar-fueled apocalypse. Her presence immediately increased the tension, her arrogant laughter an insult to the giants' somber mood.
"Maaama-mamama!" she cackled, her eyes sweeping over the colossal World Tree and the stern faces of the giants. "What a magnificent island! It will make a fine centerpiece for my new territory!" The game was a pretense. The conquest was the goal.
As Regent Jarl stood between the two crews, preparing to explain the sacred rules of the contest, a deep, unnatural tremor rumbled from the roots of the World Tree. It wasn't a quake. It was a series of heavy, rhythmic thuds, like something massive trying to break free from deep underground.
The giants, including the Regent, looked towards the World Tree with expressions of alarm and anger.
Marco turned to Ace, his face tense. "What was that? A Sea King?"
Ace didn't look at Marco. His eyes were narrowed, his Haki focused entirely on the source of the tremor, on the cold malice he had sensed earlier, which was now stirring with a frightening, new intensity. He looked at the base of the colossal tree, at the ancient, sealed stone doors that led to the dungeons below.
"No," he said, his voice low and grim. "That wasn't a monster."
"That was the sound of a cage rattling."
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