Twin cape, Grand Line
"BAM... BAM... BAM...!!"
The thunderous echoes of flesh striking stone rippled through the air, each impact sending a tremor across the seas and shaking the skies above Reverse Mountain. Again and again, a colossal shadow hurled itself at the towering cliff face—a creature so vast it dwarfed ships, and so stubborn its pain became its anthem.
Laboon, the mighty island whale, rammed his head against the indomitable wall that separated the Grand Line from the four seas. The mountain did not budge. It never did. But neither did Laboon.
His massive head, already split and scarred from years of relentless battering, now bled freely, fresh crimson mixing with old scars and dried wounds. The gashes tore deeper with each desperate charge, but Laboon never faltered.
His cries tore through the skies—raw, haunting, mournful. It wasn't just a scream of pain.
It was a plea. A song of longing. A promise never broken.
Though decades had passed, Laboon had never given up on the Rumbar Pirates—the companions who once sailed across the sea laughing, singing, and promising they'd return. Every morning, every dusk, and even through the storms of night, Laboon would hurl himself at the Reverse Mountain, as if one more strike might breach fate itself and reunite him with his family.
From atop the Twin Cape, Crocus stood with arms crossed and eyes heavy, watching the familiar tragedy unfold yet again. The wind tugged at his white coat as he sighed—softly, sadly.
"Still not willing to give up, are you…?"
His voice was gentle, not of reprimand, but of deep affection and helplessness. He had said those words a thousand times, and every time, he already knew the answer. Laboon wouldn't stop. He couldn't. The whale's soul was shackled to a promise forged in laughter and sealed in song—and that promise would outlast even time itself.
Back then, one of the reasons Crocus had sailed with the Pirate King wasn't just the allure of adventure—it was hope. A hope that somewhere in the vast, uncharted seas, he might find the Rumbar Pirates, and return with news to soothe Laboon's aching heart.
But there had been no trace. No songs echoing from the sea. Only silence. He'd explained the possibility to Laboon—that perhaps... they had perished. But Laboon refused to believe it. The great whale knew only loyalty and love. He was a creature of unshakable faith.
"They promised," Laboon's every action seemed to say. "They said they'd come back. So I'll wait... and I'll find them."
Crocus shook his head with a quiet chuckle, masking the sting behind his old eyes. He reached down, picked up his well-worn medical kit, and leapt with practiced grace toward the edge, sailing through the sea spray and salt-laced wind as he headed toward the injured giant.
This was his routine. Not just the lighthouse keeper. Not just the Gatekeeper of the Grand Line. He was Laboon's doctor. Laboon's guardian. Laboon's friend.
And though the whale often protested, Crocus had created a careful surgical passage within the whale's massive frame—a way to tend to the wounds from within without causing pain. It was a labor of love and duty, and he treated Laboon not as a beast, but as a brother in waiting.
As he landed gently upon Laboon's back, the massive creature stilled, recognizing the presence of the only soul who truly understood. Crocus placed a steady hand against the scarred hide, his voice almost a whisper.
"They would be proud, you know... of how long you've waited. Of how fiercely you've held on."
Laboon responded not with words, but with a soft, low rumble that resonated deep in his chest—a sound filled with yearning, and maybe... just maybe... belief.
And for just a moment, as the waves danced around them and the cries of the sea quieted, the mountain didn't seem so unbreakable.
It had taken hours for Crocus to finally calm the wounded giant. He moved deftly, navigating the inner chambers of Laboon—his colossal patient, his longtime companion, his duty. With steady hands, he administered a heavy sedative tailored to a creature of such titanic resilience, and only once the drug began to take effect did the raging island whale begin to relax. Its body slumped slowly, tremors fading from its immense form as it drifted into a troubled slumber.
But the damage was already done. As Crocus surveyed Laboon's vast interior, his eyes darkened. The years of relentless, self-inflicted trauma had begun to show—not just on the surface, but deep in the bone and sinew of the whale. Wounds that no longer healed properly. Scars that ran too deep. The brute strength of a creature capable of toppling islands was slowly unraveling, undone by the agony of loyalty... and the ache of abandonment.
"How long can you hold on like this…?" Crocus murmured, almost to himself. But even he knew the answer. As long as it took. Because Laboon had made a promise. And Laboon was family.
With a weary sigh, Crocus exited the whale's body and returned to the Twin Cape, stretching his aching limbs and dropping his medical kit with a thud beside the familiar lighthouse table. But just as his body began to relax, his hand instinctively reached for the massive harpoon leaning against the wall.
His calm, spectacled eyes narrowed. "Why don't you come out already…?" he called, voice calm but laced with iron. "I can feel your killing intent bleeding from the shadows."
The wind rustled the foliage behind the lighthouse. Then—a slow, deliberate laugh. "Kahahaha… Not bad, Crocus-san. After all these years, your senses are still sharp."
From behind the thick vegetation, a figure emerged—a hulking man clad in a weather-worn long coat, eyes gleaming with chaos. Douglas Bullet, former member of the Roger Pirates, now a walking storm of war and ambition, stepped into the light with the grin of a devil.
Crocus's kind, caretaker demeanor vanished. What stood now was not a doctor—but a warrior. A former pirate who had once braved the Grand Line aboard the Oro Jackson, standing side-by-side with the Pirate King himself. He was no stranger to monsters.
"Why are you here, Bullet?" Crocus growled, harpoon now gripped in both hands, coated with a cold layer of Armament Haki. The very air around him seemed to vibrate with resolve.
Rayleigh had warned him. He had told him what Bullet had done. That Bullet had gone rogue—hunting the remnants of the Roger Pirates one by one. Crocus had dismissed nothing. He had heard of Oden's death, the others who had vanished, and the trail of carnage Bullet had left behind.
Still, to see him here—brazen and grinning like nothing had changed—was an insult.
"Why, I just missed you, Crocus-san," Bullet said with mock innocence, feigning nostalgia.
"What, can't an old friend stop by for a visit?"
But Crocus didn't flinch. His stance didn't loosen. His eyes didn't blink. "Spare me your act, Douglas," he spat, voice hard with betrayal. "Just tell me why... Why did you go after your own family? After everything we gave you, why?!"
At that, Bullet's smirk twisted. The mask fell. His eyes narrowed into slits of crimson malice.
"So... you know."
He clicked his tongue in mock disappointment, though there was now no effort to hide his menace. Haki surged around him, coiling like a beast ready to pounce.
"Fine. No more games. Yes—I killed them. And more. I'll burn everything Roger built to the ground. And if you don't want to join them in the afterlife, old man…"
"Tell me where it is."
The venom in his voice was unmistakable. This wasn't about revenge. It was about power. About legacy. About the eternal log pose to Raftel—the key to the final island, the last mystery of the Pirate King. But Crocus didn't budge. Not an inch.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said through gritted teeth. "And even if I did—do you really think I'd tell a traitorous bastard like you?"
Bullet's eyes burned. Crocus's Haki flared, the black sheen of Haki rippling along the shaft of his harpoon. Once, they had shared the same ship. Once, they had been family under a single flag. But that young rookie was dead. And in his place stood a monster.
"You shouldn't have come here, Bullet… not after what you've done."
Crocus's voice was low, rough with fury. His eyes narrowed, glowing with restrained violence as a surge of Observation Haki pulsed from him like a silent radar. The ground beneath his feet cracked ever so slightly from the tension building in his stance.
In an instant, Bullet moved. A blur of raw muscle and fury, his fist—coated in thick, black Armament Haki—shot forward like a cannonball, aimed straight at Crocus's face. But the old doctor wasn't caught off guard. His years with Roger, his countless battles across the Grand Line, had carved into him a warrior's instinct that had never dulled.
BOOM…!
Crocus raised his harpoon just in time—its obsidian-coated shaft clashing with Bullet's fist. The impact was thunderous, a boom that echoed across the Twin Capes. The very island shuddered, waves crashing violently against the lighthouse cliffs as the shockwave rippled outward, knocking birds from the skies and cracking nearby rock formations.
The clash sent both men skidding backwards—Bullet, grinning; Crocus, steady.
"Kahahaha! You still pack a punch, old man," Bullet bellowed, his blood pumping with excitement.
"But unless you want to die here, I suggest you give me what I want! I really don't want to kill you, Crocus-san… but I will—limb by limb—until I rip the truth from your corpse."
Suddenly, the air twisted. A dark storm of Haki erupted from Bullet, thick tendrils of Conqueror's Haki lashing out like wild lightning. The sky itself seemed to groan beneath the weight of it, the surrounding ocean stirring violently as if the sea could feel the bloodlust surging from the monstrous man. Purple lightning crackled, shattering the air between them.
But Crocus didn't move. He stood firm, undaunted, the wind of Bullet's fury blowing against him like a storm against a stone. And then—his own Haki surged. A powerful, refined current of will burst from Crocus's body, not wild like Bullet's, but sharp, focused—a surgeon's blade to Bullet's hammer.
"You think I fear death?" Crocus growled, eyes blazing.
"You think this old man would bow to a traitor who murdered his family? I'd rather die on my feet than give you anything, Bullet."
He launched forward. The harpoon in his grip gleamed with obsidian darkness, coated in a flawless layer of Armament Haki. Crocus spun it mid-air and drove it downward in a powerful arc aimed at Bullet's shoulder. Bullet blocked, but the sheer force sent him skidding back, his boots tearing trenches into the stone.
"Tch… You've gotten old, but not weak," Bullet snarled, before lunging forward again.
The two clashed—blow for blow, Haki against Haki, each collision sending out miniature earthquakes. The lighthouse behind them shuddered with every hit. Trees splintered. The air whistled with each swing of Crocus's harpoon, and Bullet's fists blurred as he pounded the ground around them.
Crocus ducked low, sweeping the harpoon across Bullet's legs. Bullet leapt, twisting mid-air, landing behind Crocus with a brutal roundhouse that cracked the stone he stood on—but Crocus rolled, dodging the blow and launching another strike straight for Bullet's gut.
"I may be old, Douglas…" Crocus spat, landing a glancing blow that forced Bullet to retreat a step,
"But I haven't forgotten how to kill a monster."
Bullet growled, rubbing his bruised ribs, a sliver of blood dripping from his lip. His grin widened.
"Then let's see if you can back up those words… old man."
And the battle roared on.
The sky above the Twin Capes darkened—not with clouds, but with the sheer pressure of two monstrous auras colliding. The sea, once tranquil, now writhed and thrashed as if trying to flee the battlefield, waves roaring against the cliffs as the first strike landed.
Crocus, harpoon in hand, surged forward like a bolt of divine fury, a streak of death wrapped in iron resolve. Despite the age etched into his features, his movement was a blur—sharp, fluid, impossibly fast. The harpoon, gleaming with Armament Haki so dense it glimmered like obsidian lightning, carved through the air, aimed to pierce through fate itself.
Douglas Bullet met the assault without hesitation. His fist, wreathed in layers of hardened Advanced Haki and threaded with the writhing tendrils of Conqueror's Haki, collided with the harpoon in a calamitous explosion of power. The earth beneath their feet cracked open like dry parchment, ruptured by the magnitude of force. The surrounding cliffs detonated, sending colossal shards of stone hurtling into the sea like shattered teeth.
Crocus twisted mid-air, harnessing the recoil to spiral around Bullet's flank with the elegance of a wind-borne predator. His harpoon shifted into a brutal thrust—spinning faster than sound, a drill honed to kill. Bullet's Observation Haki flared. He dropped low at the last second, the harpoon grazing his shoulder and drawing blood, before retaliating with a ground-splitting uppercut. A monolithic pillar of stone erupted from beneath, smashing into Crocus and flinging him skyward like a comet.
But Crocus was prepared. His torso was sheathed in reinforced Haki, the blow glancing off as he twisted mid-air. Without pause, he launched his weapon downward. The harpoon screamed like a banshee, trailing a black, crackling aura. Bullet crossed his arms, but the impact drove him deep into the mountain, tearing open a crater that thundered across the entire Reverse Mountain.
Then, the ground pulsed. A sinister glow enveloped Bullet. His muscles surged, his veins bulging with devilish energy. Stone, metal, and debris spiraled into him as his Devil Fruit awakened in full. From the chaos, a monstrous mech-like titan rose—an abomination of compressed wreckage and raw power, with Bullet at its heart. His roar cleaved the heavens, and the earth shuddered in response.
Above him, Crocus landed on floating debris, surrounded by a maelstrom of crackling Haki. His senses sharpened to the edge of precognition, his will focused into a killing storm. He moved with surgical precision, his harpoon spinning into slashes that targeted the mech's forming joints—tearing open gaps before the armor could fully set. Each strike exploded with Haki, sending shards of armor flying and halting the monstrosity's evolution.
A massive steel fist barreled toward him. Crocus ducked, flipped onto the limb, and sprinted its length with the grace of a duelist. At the shoulder, he drove the harpoon down, shattering armor, splitting flesh, and unleashing a geyser of blood. Bullet howled.
Tendrils of metal lashed out. Crocus backflipped off, landing lightly on the fractured earth. Twin pillars of stone erupted around him in a trap, but before they could close, he unleashed a pulse of Emission Haki in a perfect dome. The pillars detonated into dust—but the debris rained down, burying him.
For a moment, silence. Then Crocus emerged—bloodied, battered, but unbroken. With a grunt, he shouldered the mountainous debris, his frame glowing faintly. Crimson eyes burned with ancient fury. His mastery of Life Return surged through his body—healing, restoring, and sharpening every sinew. His harpoon crackled with black-violet lightning, its aura so dense it distorted the air.
Bullet charged, now fully clad in his monstrous armor. The earth trembled with each step. Crocus responded in kind, moving like a phantom. Their clash split the sea.
Fist met harpoon. Harpoon struck thigh. Knee cracked jaw. Elbow slammed ribs. Every blow between them was titanic—each one a cannon blast, each one screaming with will and fury. The air was thick with raw Haki, the heavens groaning as if the world itself feared their battle.
Bullet's arm twisted, morphing into a colossal warhammer of fused iron. He swung. Crocus ducked low, rolled beneath, and thrust his harpoon into Bullet's knee. A thunderous pulse of Haki erupted, shattering the joint. The giant dropped.
Crocus leapt skyward. Spiraling, he flipped—his harpoon now fully ablaze in swirling Conqueror's and Armament Haki, a comet born of wrath. As he descended, the weapon cracked the sound barrier, violet lightning dancing across its blade like a celestial judgment.
Bullet looked up. Too late. Impact.
The harpoon pierced his chest like a divine spear. The armor exploded outward. A dome of pure Haki engulfed the area, vaporizing terrain, boiling the sea, and tearing open a new canyon beneath them. Waves hundreds of meters high erupted in every direction, crashing against the mountains like divine punishment.
Silence followed. Crocus landed amidst the debris, his body trembling—steam rising from his shoulders, blood dripping from old and new wounds alike. His breath was ragged, but his stance was solid. His harpoon hissed with residual energy.
Across the battlefield, Douglas Bullet lay buried beneath the smoldering wreckage of his broken construct. Yet Crocus didn't lower his weapon. He knew. This wasn't over. Not yet. Not with a monster like Bullet.
****
The sea howled like a beast unchained. Towering walls of water crashed against the jagged cliffs that framed the base of the Reverse Mountain. Thunder cracked in the distance, though no storm brewed above—only the primal fury of the world's most infamous ocean current: the dread stream that defied logic and gravity alike.
The Reverse Mountain loomed ahead, a towering peak split by the impossible river that surged upward—an ancient path carved by nature and madness alike, the only known gateway between the four Blues and the Grand Line. And upon those merciless waters, riding the monstrous tide, sailed a ship as mad as the current itself.
The Iron Howl, a mighty galleon with reinforced iron-plated hulls and sails dark as a storm, groaned under the force of the rushing tide. Its figurehead—a snarling wolf with crimson-painted eyes and jagged fangs—cut through the mist like a predator finally freed from its cage. The entire vessel trembled as the current gripped it, dragging it forward, upward, with terrifying speed.
At the helm stood a towering figure cloaked in a long, crimson coat that snapped like a banner of war. His chest was bare, revealing a network of battle scars and a jagged tattoo of a wolf devouring a crown. His left eye glowed with the glint of a golden monocle, while his right eye—clouded and blind—burned with unrelenting resolve.
Captain Varlox D. Gorr. He threw his head back, letting the ocean spray soak his tangled mane of jet-black hair, and roared with the voice of a man who had tasted every hell the South Blue had to offer and was still hungry for more.
"BRACE YE BASTARDS!!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "This is it! The Grand Line calls! Our names will echo through the seas, carved into legend with blood, steel, and fire!"
The crew responded with a thunderous roar of their own. Men and women alike, hardened by years of outlaw life, gripped the railings and ropes. The ship lurched upward as the current seized it completely. Barrels snapped their lashings and rolled across the deck. The helmsman fought the wheel with white-knuckled determination, his muscles straining as the Iron Howl shot forward, the bow rising sharply with the ascending current.
The climb was nothing short of madness. Water surged with the fury of a living god. The ship's hull groaned under the strain. The crew shouted to each other over the deafening roar, tightening sails, adjusting ballast, counterbalancing against the unrelenting pressure of the current. Waves smashed across the deck, nearly washing a few overboard, but every soul aboard clung on with the desperation of those who had no intention of dying on the threshold of greatness.
Captain Gorr stood tall, unshaken, as the ship neared the mountain's peak. His coat whipped violently in the wind, and his one good eye gleamed with wild delight.
And then— The summit.
For a breathless moment, the world stood still. The Iron Howl crested the Reverse Mountain, hanging on the knife's edge between oceans. The endless blue of the Grand Line stretched ahead like a promise wrapped in shadow and fire.
Then came the drop.
The ship plunged forward, riding the roaring current down the other side of the mountain like a cannonball loosed from the heavens. The wind screamed. The crew whooped and howled in half-terror, half-exhilaration. Ropes snapped, barrels flew, the sails stretched near breaking.
Captain Gorr grinned, baring teeth like a wolf. "WELCOME TO HELL, BOYS!!"
With a final thunderous crash, the Iron Howl slammed into the calm seas of the Grand Line. The ship rocked violently, but it held. It survived. And silence fell. A hush of awe.
The sea was calmer here, deceptively so. Strange clouds drifted in the distance, and even stranger creatures leapt in the waves. The sun cast long shadows across the horizon. And on the main deck, the pirates stared out, eyes wide with wonder and ambition.
"We made it…" one whispered.
Gorr laughed, deep and guttural. "Aye. And now…" He turned, lifting his harpoon-like sword into the air, lightning flashing across the sky in answer. "Now the world will learn the name of the Iron Howl Pirates!"
Just as the Hoel Pirates burst into cheers, their boots stomping on soaked planks and hands raised in defiant triumph, the Iron Howl finally leveled out atop the Reverse Mountain, its mighty hull weathered but intact.
The crew began to breathe for the first time in what felt like an eternity, laughter echoing over the creaking deck as the Grand Line sprawled before them—a horizon of endless opportunity, chaos, and legend.
Captain Varlox D. Gorr allowed himself a rare smile. "We did it," he muttered, almost reverently. "We've made it…"
But then—the air shifted. Without warning, a low, guttural boom reverberated across the ocean, so deep and forceful it felt as though the sea itself had groaned in agony. The laughter stopped. Every crewmember froze. Gorr's eye narrowed, his instincts screaming.
A shockwave followed, not of wind or water—but pure, concussive force. The sea itself buckled. The very atmosphere around the Twin Capes distorted, as if space were being torn asunder.
The crew turned, their eyes drawn to the distant cliffs of the Twin Capes—and what they saw rooted them in silent horror.
There, wreathed in collapsing earth and roaring seawater, two titanic forces clashed: one a monstrous, mech-like construct forged of steel and stone, the other a lone, battle-worn man wreathed in black and violet Haki, hurling a harpoon like a god of war. Each blow they exchanged split the air, sending aftershocks that rippled for miles, cracking the very sea beneath them.
The laughter died. The air was sucked from their lungs.
And then—destruction. A second, sharper shockwave, born from a catastrophic collision of Haki and raw Devil Fruit power, raced toward the Iron Howl. It moved not like wind, but like an executioner's blade. The sea split open before it. Birds were torn from the sky. The crew barely had time to scream.
The wave struck. The Iron Howl, a fortress of iron and will, crumpled like parchment. Masts snapped like twigs. The figurehead—once snarling and proud—was shattered in an instant. Decks were ripped from hulls. Planks exploded into splinters. Dozens of crewmembers were flung into the sea like ragdolls, swallowed by the churning fury of the Grand Line's merciless waters.
Varlox D. Gorr, clinging to the shattered remains of the helm, could only stare wide-eyed toward the chaos. Through the spray and destruction, in that final moment, he caught a glimpse.
The man. Old, battered, but standing tall. Harpoon gleaming with a dark, thunderous aura.
The monster. Colossal, armor-clad, fists the size of ships, face half-shattered from the last blow.
And then—nothing. The sea consumed them. In less than a heartbeat, the Iron Howl and her crew were gone. Not as victims. Not even as casualties.
Irrelevant.
The Grand Line did not acknowledge them, did not care for their dreams, their strength, or their ambition. They weren't defeated. They weren't even noticed. They had simply… been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Their dreams of carving a legacy into history were shattered before the ink could dry. Another nameless crew lost to the Grand Line's endless, hungry tides. And above it all, the sea roared on. Cold. Indifferent. Eternal.