The lecherous grin plastered across the captain's face was impossible to miss as he eyed the distant figure of the lone giantess. The moonlight glinted off his scarred features, his crooked teeth bared in a smile that sent chills down the spines of even his crew. The air was thick with bloodlust and the sour stench of alcohol from the rowdy pirates gathered around him.
"You weren't joking, were you?" the captain growled, a sadistic edge to his voice. "A lone giantess on this wretched little island. Must be of high bloodline with features like that. Only if there wasn't such a disparity in size… Maybe I could've tasted a giant too," he chuckled, his meaning leaving no room for misinterpretation.
His men cackled along with him, their laughter twisted and depraved. One of the pirates, nearly drooling, piped up eagerly, "Well, Captain, it's not out of the question, is it? Don't forget—we just got our hands on a devil fruit not too long ago. Remember? The Mini Mini no Mi."
The captain's grin widened into a toothy sneer, and he clapped the man on the back with enough force to make him stumble.
"How could I forget that little treasure? You're right. Force-feed the fruit to the giantess, and suddenly she's no bigger than the palm of my hand. Hah! Hah! Hah!" His booming laughter echoed into the night.
But as his thoughts swirled with plans to satisfy his debauched fantasies, a voice cut through the rowdy chatter. It was the vice-captain, his tone cautious yet firm.
"Captain," he began, his expression grim under the flickering torchlight. His face was marred with scars that crisscrossed his bald head like a roadmap of violence, and a missing ear only added to his menacing visage. "Who are those people with her? They're too organized to be pirates and too armed to be merchants. Slavers, maybe? But that's a bold guess."
"Does it matter?" the captain sneered, brushing off his subordinate's concern with a dismissive wave. "Merchants, slavers, pirates—they're all the same to us. The giantess is the prize here. Whatever they are, they won't be breathing for long."
The vice-captain frowned. His instincts, honed by years of survival in the New World, screamed that this wasn't a simple band of wanderers.
"Captain, I don't think we should underestimate them. Not just anyone can survive these waters, let alone venture toward the High West's summit. We've already lost half our crew to these cursed seas."
The captain's sneer faltered for a moment, but he quickly brushed it off. "Bah! You're jumping at shadows. With Big Mom gone, every force with a scrap of strength is too busy scrambling for her territories to waste time here. These are nobodies, and we'll crush them."
Another pirate interjected, his voice oily with suggestion. "Captain, once we capture her, I'm calling dibs on any lads in their crew. You know I prefer them young."
The crew burst into laughter, their depravity on full display, as the captain brandished his blade with a roar. "Do whatever you want with the rest, boys. Just remember—the giantess is mine!"
The revelry of the pirates' cruel ambitions reached fever pitch as the plan was set into motion. They prepared for the slaughter under the cloak of the night sky, torches flickering against the dark horizon. But amidst the chaos, one figure stood apart—the one-eyed pirate who had first spotted the giantess. His curiosity gnawed at him, drawing him away from the group.
With his single, misted eye and the other covered by a worn patch, his vision was barely reliable, but something on the rocky shore had caught his attention. He crept closer to the water's edge, his breath hitching as he realized the truth. The massive silhouette he had mistaken for a rock was, in fact, a colossal ship, its dark hull blending seamlessly into the night.
A cold wind whipped past, and the ship's enormous flag unfurled. The one-eyed pirate's heart stopped as he saw the symbol—a grin stitched in flaming threads, its eerie smile unmistakable. His blood ran cold, and his voice quivered as he whispered to himself, "The Donquixote Family…"
Every pirate in the New World knew that mark, and every sane one feared it. This wasn't just any ship; it was the flagship of Donquixote Rosinante—the Shadow Emperor. The man who had brought down Charlotte Linlin, one of the Yonkō, with a terrifying display of cunning and power. The mere mention of his name made even seasoned pirates shiver. And if the giantess was with him…
The one-eyed pirate turned back to warn his crew, but his voice caught in his throat. They had no idea what they were walking into, their laughter and boasting a cruel mockery of the storm that was about to descend.
From the deck of the massive ship, a figure watched silently, his sharp, hawk-like gaze piercing through the darkness. A cloak billowed in the wind, revealing the glint of gilded threads and the weight of an aura so suffocating that even the waves seemed to slow in reverence.
The blind pirate's breath hitched, panic surging through his veins as he realized the weight pressing him against the cold, gritty sand was no natural force. It was as if the very air around him had become a crushing tide, pinning him to the beach.
His muffled attempts to scream for his crew were drowned out by the ominous roar of the waves. His one good eye darted wildly, but he saw nothing—only the stars above, indifferent to his impending doom.
And then he felt it.
A sharp, cold bite tore through his spine, silencing him forever. Shusui, the black blade renowned for its unparalleled sharpness, was a whisper of death in the night as it severed his vertebrae with practiced precision. Blood spilled across the sands in dark rivulets as I withdrew the sword without a second glance, its eerie gleam undiminished.
I flicked Shusui clean, the crimson droplets scattering like beads of ruby before I sheathed it with a resonant click. My movements were unhurried, almost casual, as if dispatching the pirate was as routine as drawing breath.
They had no idea.
My Observation Haki stretched far beyond the confines of this island, blanketing the surrounding seas like an unseen web. Nothing escaped me—not the shuffle of boots, the clink of weapons, nor the hushed whispers of malice as the pirates plotted their vile schemes.
They thought themselves hidden, their depravity cloaked by the night, but their every word echoed clearly in my mind.
They had dared to speak of Dora as though she were a trophy to be taken, a toy to be broken and defiled. The thought ignited a fury so deep it burned cold. I was not merely going to kill them; I was going to make them understand. To etch into their very souls the folly of their actions.
The sound of the waves crashed in rhythm with my steps as I walked toward the encampment. The moonlight illuminated the sand, but my shadow seemed to stretch unnaturally long, a harbinger of the storm to come.
The pirates were gathered around their crude fires, their drunken laughter and boasts grating against the silence of the night. They had no idea that death itself was approaching.
I could feel their aura—cocky, disjointed, utterly devoid of the discipline required to survive what they had unwittingly provoked. They were nothing more than vermin that had stumbled too close to the lion's den, unaware of the predator lurking just out of sight.
Dora's name had been on their tongues, spoken with mockery and filth. That alone sealed their fate. Dora was part of the Donquixote Family now, and I would see to it personally that none who disrespected her lived to tell the tale.
The pirate captain's roar of command cut through the night, spurring his men forward like a pack of rabid wolves. They charged with reckless abandon, their weapons gleaming in the moonlight. The plan was simple—strike fast, strike hard, and overwhelm before their targets could mount any resistance.
Their boots crunched against the sand, and the sea air was thick with anticipation. But then—CRACK.
The sharp sound of broken glass echoed across the beach, loud enough to disrupt the stillness. Every head whipped toward the culprit, a clumsy subordinate whose foot had shattered a discarded bottle. The captain's face twisted in fury, but his anger was soon replaced with dread.
The damage was done.
The encampment stirred, the movement faint and sluggish, as if the inhabitants had just been roused from a dream. But instead of panic or alarm, there was a strange lethargy. A few of the figures sat up, glanced at the charging pirates with dull curiosity, and then lay back down with dismissive mutters like "Not tonight," or "He's got this."
The pirates faltered, their initial bravado cracking under the eerie nonchalance of their supposed victims. Confusion rippled through their ranks.
"What the hell is this?" one of them hissed, clutching his blade tighter.
The captain sneered, trying to mask his unease with bravado. "Idiots! If they're too stupid or drunk to fight back, it's even better for us. Keep moving!"
The charge resumed with renewed aggression, but the laughter that had started to bubble from the crew was short-lived. A voice—low, cold, and commanding—cut through the air like a knife.
"You really should've stayed in your graves tonight."
The words weren't shouted, but their weight was immense. The pirates' advance came to an abrupt halt as every head snapped toward the source. Emerging from the shadows, I stood at the edge of the encampment, Shusui's black blade resting lazily on my shoulder. The crimson light of the dying fire flickered against the polished steel, casting my figure in an ominous glow.
The pirates froze, their instincts screaming at them that they were in the presence of something far greater than they had anticipated. The oppressive aura of my presence alone rolled over them in waves, seizing their breaths and rooting them to the spot.
The captain, ever the fool, tried to shake off the fear gnawing at his chest. He bared his teeth in a forced grin, his voice trembling despite his bravado. "Who the hell do you think you are, interrupting my party?!"
Before he could continue, the vice-captain grabbed his arm with a grip so tight it nearly crushed bone. "Captain, stop," he hissed, his voice cracking with terror. "Look at him; don't you recognize him? Look at her."
The captain's eyes darted toward Dora, her towering figure, which was now illuminated by the firelight. At first, he only saw a giantess—a rare prize, but not unheard of. But as he followed the vice-captain's trembling gaze back to me, the pieces began to fall into place. The sheer, crushing weight of realization struck him like a hammer to the chest.
This wasn't some wayward group of merchants or slavers.
This wasn't a lost giantess.
This was her. The giantess of the Donquixote Family. And the man before him, the one whose very presence made the air feel heavy, was no ordinary pirate.
It was him.
Donquixote Rosinante.
The Shadow Emperor.
The man who had single-handedly brought down Big Mom, one of the Four Emperors of the Sea, and sent shockwaves across the New World. His name was now whispered in the same breath as Whitebeard, a name that had become synonymous with dread and destruction.
The captain stumbled back, his face pale. "No... No, it can't be... This... this was simply a misunderstanding…!"
My smirk widened as I let my blade drop, the tip sinking into the sand with a faint hiss. My voice was calm, almost amused. "You wanted the giantess, didn't you? Wanted to 'subdue' her, take what wasn't yours?" My gaze bore into him, making him flinch. "You've made two mistakes tonight. The first was setting foot on this island."
I stepped forward, each footfall echoing like thunder. "The second?" I tilted my head, my grin turning sharp. "Was not recognizing whose family you just insulted."
The captain's men began to tremble, their weapons slipping from their hands. The weight of my Haki bore down on them harder now, pushing the weakest to their knees. The fires around the camp flickered as if bowing to the storm that was about to be unleashed.
I glanced at Dora, her expression calm yet resolute as she stood behind me like a sentinel. She didn't need to lift a finger tonight. This was personal.
"Shall we begin?" I asked, my tone almost polite.
The pirates didn't even have time to react.
*****
Dressrosa, New World
A massive vessel glided into the port, its towering masts bearing the unmistakable insignia of the World Government. To call it a "ship" would have been an insult; it was a floating fortress, bristling with cannons, reinforced steel plating, and adorned with gold-trimmed banners.
The only vessel accompanying it into the heart of the Donquixote seas was a Marine warship with a distinctive dog-shaped prow—Vice Admiral Garp's ship. The rest of the fleet, a dozen strong, lingered at the periphery of these waters, unwilling to test the patience of the Donquixote Family.
The territory was infamous. For tens of thousands of nautical miles, the Donquixote Family's control was absolute. Permission for a Celestial Dragon to make landfall was already a rare concession. But this was no ordinary Celestial Dragon; this was one of the Five Elders—the enigmatic planetary overseers who ruled the world from the shadows.
Despite the significance of the arrival, there was no grandeur. No lavish reception, no parade of loyalists to fawn over the Elder's presence. Dressrosa continued its day-to-day activities as if nothing unusual was happening.
The only sign of preparation was the complete evacuation of the port, now eerily silent and deserted under orders from the Donquixote Family. The stark absence of pomp stood in sharp contrast to the usual self-aggrandizing pageantry of the World Nobles.
Admiral Raylene stood on the bow of Garp's ship, her sharp eyes scanning the coastline. The wind tugged at her Marine coat, but her expression remained calm and composed. She spoke without looking back.
"This place has changed quite a bit since the last time I was here."
"You've been to Dressrosa before, Admiral Raylene?" Kuzan asked, his tone laced with surprise. He leaned casually against the ship's rail, watching as the distant silhouette of Dressrosa's coastline grew sharper under the morning light. To him, this island was almost a revolving door.
"Feels like I've been coming here nonstop. This'll make it my third visit in just a few years."
Raylene smiled faintly, the expression tinged with nostalgia. "Yes, I've been here before," she replied. "Though it was a lifetime ago, during my younger days, long before I joined the Marines."
Kuzan raised an eyebrow. It wasn't often Raylene indulged in reminiscing. "I take it the place has changed?"
Raylene's gaze shifted to the vibrant city visible on the horizon. The skyline glittered with activity: merchants peddling their wares, children laughing as they played in the streets, and townsfolk bustling with purpose. It was a stark contrast to the memory she carried in her mind.
"Back then," she began, her voice carrying a reflective weight, "Dressrosa looked harmonious on the surface—bright colors, happy smiles, and lively music. But beneath that facade, it was a hollow shell.
Pirates preyed on this country relentlessly, using its proximity to the route from Fishman Island as an excuse to raid and pillage. It wasn't unusual to hear of entire villages burned to the ground in a single night. The people clung to joy as a shield, but you could feel their fear if you looked close enough."
Her observation haki spread out, brushing against the edges of Dressrosa's current heartbeat. The emotions she sensed were different now. The country felt alive—truly alive. There was no underlying tension, no hidden desperation. Farmers toiled with pride, children's laughter rang out freely, and merchants haggled with the confidence of a stable livelihood.
"Now, though," she continued, "it's something else entirely. Flourishing. Secure. Whatever you might think of the Donquixote Family, this place is no longer just surviving. It's thriving."
Kuzan followed her gaze, his own observation haki sweeping across the port town. He couldn't deny the truth in her words. The streets were clean, the buildings well-maintained, and there was a distinct lack of fear in the air. Even so, he wasn't entirely convinced.
"You think that's the Donquixote Family's doing?" he asked, his tone skeptical. "They don't strike me as philanthropists."
Raylene chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Philanthropy? Hardly. But control? Absolutely. Doflamingo's grip on this place is ironclad. He's eliminated threats—pirates, warlords, even internal corruption. Whether it's out of genuine care for the country or simply because it's his playground, the result is the same. Dressrosa prospers."
"Interesting perspective, but some might say you are going against the Marine code supporting a pirate like that…" Kuzan muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hard to argue with results, though, I guess. Still, ironclad control doesn't always last. All it takes is one crack."
Raylene gave him a sidelong glance, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "That's true for any organization, Kuzan. Even ours."
Behind her, the crew remained on high alert, save for the one notable exception. Vice Admiral Garp leaned against the mast, pretending to nap. His rumbling snores added an odd levity to an otherwise tense atmosphere, though no one dared to question his unorthodox behavior. Admiral Raylene's lips twitched into a faint smirk. Garp was Garp.
By contrast, the mood aboard the World Government's flagship was anything but relaxed. Armed guards patrolled every deck, their weapons gleaming under the midday sun. The air was thick with paranoia, their unease almost tangible.
Admiral Raylene turned her attention to Vergo, the recently promoted Admiral Candidate standing stoically near her. Known by his codename Black Dragon, Vergo's presence exuded calm authority, though his eyes were fixed on the approaching port with quiet intensity.
"You've been assigned to the Elder's personal guard detail," Raylene said, her voice steady but carrying a note of warning. "A rare privilege, but let's not kid ourselves. They're testing you, Vergo."
A faint frown creased Vergo's brow. "Testing me?"
"They want your loyalty," Vice Admiral Aokiji cut in, stepping beside Raylene. His usual lazy demeanor was replaced with uncharacteristic seriousness. "The World Government knows your potential. They see you as the future of the Marines. But they don't want you tied to us—they want you tied to them."
Raylene nodded. "You don't just represent yourself, Vergo. You represent the legacy of Zephyr-sensei. Remember that."
"I understand, Admiral," Vergo replied, bowing his head respectfully. "I'll keep your words in mind." Yet, his eyes flicked toward the enormous flagship. It wasn't fear he felt—it was resolve. Whatever tests awaited, he would face them as a Marine.
"I'll be watching closely," Raylene added, her voice lowering so only Vergo and Aokiji could hear.
"You're one of ours, Vergo. Don't let them sway you."
Aokiji adjusted his Marine coat, exhaling a frosty breath. "That's not the only thing you should be careful of. We're deep in Donquixote territory. Even if the Elder's presence keeps things civil, we're surrounded by sharks. One wrong move…"
Vergo didn't need the rest of the warning. He had already calculated the risks. The Donquixote Family's reputation was legendary—and feared. Their absolute control over these seas wasn't just hearsay. This was their stronghold, their sanctuary, and trespassers paid the ultimate price.
Still, Vergo voiced his concern. "Is it truly safe? If something were to happen to the Elder under our watch, the stain on the Marines' reputation would be permanent."
Before Raylene or Aokiji could answer, a loud yawn interrupted them.
Garp, now sitting up and scratching the back of his head, shook the ship slightly with his movements. He waved a hand dismissively. "Doflamingo may be a scumbag of the worst kind, but he's a man of his word. If he promised safe passage, there won't be trouble."
Kuzan sighed, muttering under his breath, "It'd be nice if you didn't cause trouble for once, Garp-san."
Raylene chuckled softly but said nothing, her eyes already scanning the port again. She gestured to her officers to prepare for docking, ensuring every angle was covered. This wasn't a time for mistakes.
As the ship finally came to a halt, Vergo stepped forward, preparing to board the World Government flagship. The weight of responsibility bore down on him. Today, he wasn't just a Marine—he was the face of the Marines, standing between two colossal forces: the World Government and the Donquixote Family. One misstep, and history would remember him for all the wrong reasons.
Taking a deep breath, Vergo adjusted his coat and made his way toward the Elder's ship. The eyes of the world, it seemed, were upon him.