The silhouettes of Marine warships loomed faintly along the distant shoreline, their horns still echoing across the sea. Time was running out—the Marines were nearly done with their withdrawal.
Derek watched Gern's back as he walked ahead. His shoulders tightened slightly, and his right hand slowly slid toward the flintlock pistol at his waist.
His knuckles turned pale from the pressure, veins bulging faintly across the back of his hand.
"Let's go, Ensign," Gern said calmly. "The evacuation window's almost over."
He had noticed the greed that had flickered across Derek's face earlier.
But Derek had always been greedy—seeing a good blade on someone's back was more than enough to spark that look. Gern didn't think too deeply about it. After all, if they didn't leave soon, the World Government would erase this island entirely.
He took another step forward.
Derek still hadn't moved.
Sensing something off, Gern turned back. His eyes landed on Derek's stiff posture, and a strange sense of unease crept up his spine.
Something's wrong.
The thought had barely formed when—
Bang!
Derek drew his gun in a flash, the motion so fast it left a blur. Sunlight flared off the barrel as the muzzle snapped toward Gern's chest and head.
Bang! Bang!
Two deafening shots shattered the silence of the shore.
Gern's pupils contracted sharply as time seemed to slow.
He watched the bullets spinning toward him, his body unable to react—
And then—
They passed straight through him.
For a split second, Gern reflexively shut his eyes, bracing for pain that never came. Instead, a strange vibration rippled through his body.
He opened his eyes in disbelief.
Where the bullets had passed through his chest and forehead, the air rippled like water disturbed by a stone. His body remained completely unharmed.
The bullets struck the sand behind him, kicking up small bursts of dust.
"…What…?" Gern murmured, staring at his chest.
Across from him, Derek froze.
His face went white. His lips trembled uncontrollably, and the gun in his hand began to shake.
"G-Gern… you… you ate a Devil Fruit?!" His voice quivered in terror, as if he'd just witnessed a nightmare come to life.
Gern slowly raised his head. The sea breeze brushed aside the hair on his forehead, revealing eyes that had grown frighteningly calm.
The initial shock had faded—replaced by a chilling stillness.
"Ensign," he said quietly, his voice sharp and heavy with meaning,"were you trying to kill me?"
Derek's face drained of color. Cold sweat streamed down his temples.
Fear twisted into madness.
"Damn you!" he screamed, pulling the trigger again and again.Bang! Bang! Bang!
The shots rang out across the shore, scattering seabirds into the sky.
Bullets tore through Gern's chest, arms—his head—
Yet every single one passed through him as if through mist, leaving only faint ripples in the air.
Gern stood unmoving.
His body shimmered faintly beneath the sunlight, semi-transparent—like it was formed from countless vibrating particles.
When the final bullet passed through his forehead, he didn't even blink.
"…A Logia…" Derek whispered hoarsely.
As a Marine officer, he knew exactly what that meant.
His grip failed him. The flintlock slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the sand.
Gern stepped forward.
The sand beneath his feet trembled faintly, reacting instinctively to his presence, as if recoiling in fear.
Step by step, he approached.
Derek stumbled backward, his back slamming against a jagged reef.
"W-Wait—Gern!!" he screamed, scrambling helplessly."Wait! This is a misunderstanding! I was just—just checking on you!"
"Checking on me?" Gern repeated calmly.
His expression was terrifyingly composed.
"Those shots…" He lifted a finger and touched the center of his forehead."They weren't meant to leave me alive."
Derek's face twisted in despair.
"You were supposed to die on that battlefield!" he screamed."Your compensation alone would've been enough for me to rise in rank back in the West Blue!"
His voice cracked into hysterics.
"A nobody like you—no family, no backing—you're just dead weight! Why are you still alive?! Do you know how much money I lost because of you?!"
Gern stopped walking.
A flicker of emotion passed through his eyes.
"Compensation…?" he murmured."If I remember correctly… a second-class Marine's death payout is only 1.5 million Beli."
A faint, mocking smile curled his lips.
"So that's all my life was worth to you?"
He raised his hand.
White vibrations began to gather in his palm, humming softly.
Derek tried to speak, but fear had robbed him of words.
Gern placed his hand gently on Derek's shoulder—like a friend offering comfort.
"Why?" he asked quietly.
Derek's entire body trembled violently. His teeth chattered as a terrifying vibration surged through him.
Gern's fingers tightened.
Bzzzz—!
A silent shockwave tore through Derek's body.
The rock behind him exploded outward as if struck by an invisible hammer.
His pupils shrank to pinpoints, mouth hanging open in a silent scream.
Blood trickled from the corners of his lips—but his skin bore no wound.
"Ghh… ah…" A broken whimper escaped him as his internal organs collapsed into ruin.
His knees buckled.
With a dull thud, he collapsed face-first into the sand.
Blood slowly pooled beneath him.
Gern withdrew his hand and stared down at the corpse.
No rage.
No satisfaction.
Only an unfamiliar emptiness.
"So this is what it's like…" he murmured."…to kill someone."
The wind picked up, carrying distant shouts from the warships offshore. Someone had noticed the gunshots. They were coming.
Gern looked down at his palm.
Sunlight filtered through his fingers, casting fractured shadows across the sand. Within him, a terrifying power pulsed—violent, absolute, capable of tearing the world apart.
Just moments ago, he'd been a disposable second-class Marine.
Now… he could crush a man like an insect.
"So this is power," he whispered."The power to decide life and death… to shape my own fate."
Footsteps were drawing closer.
Gern glanced at Derek's corpse one last time, then suddenly smiled.
"Well then… you'll have to help me put on a little show."
He bent down, hoisted the body over his shoulder—
—and began walking toward the approaching Marines.
After all, if he remembered correctly, the officer overseeing the western evacuation…
…was the future Marine Admiral known as "Black Arm" Zephyr.