The streets outside the auction house buzzed with ordinary evening activity, completely oblivious to the catastrophe that had just unfolded within those walls. Merchants hawked their wares, pirates stumbled between taverns, and families hurried home before the lawless zones grew too dangerous for civilian passage.
None of them knew that the foundation of their world had just cracked.
Oboro moved through the crowds with deliberate calm, his breathing controlled and his pace measured despite the volcanic urgency burning in his chest. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to run, to put as much distance as possible between himself and the scene of unprecedented carnage he'd left behind.
But panic would be his death sentence. In a world where Admiral-level threats could cross oceans in minutes, survival depended on calculated strategy rather than desperate flight.
Dom, however, struggled to maintain such composure. Sweat poured down his face despite the cool evening air, his enhanced senses picking up every sound and shadow that might herald their discovery. His hands trembled as muscle memory from his transformation warred with the primal terror of what they'd just accomplished.
"Boss," Dom whispered urgently, his voice barely audible above the street noise. "We need to move faster. Once word gets out about what happened in there, "
"The news hasn't spread yet," Oboro cut him off quietly, his enhanced perception sweeping across the civilian conversations around them. "We have minutes, possibly less, before someone at that auction house manages to contact Marine Headquarters. But those minutes are crucial."
His mind raced through tactical calculations with the precision of a master strategist. The death of a Celestial Dragon would trigger the World Government's most extreme response protocols. Every resource, every Admiral, every CP agent within reach would be mobilized for a manhunt that would make their previous pursuit seem like a gentle warning.
"Admiral Kizaru is already on Sabaody Archipelago," Oboro continued, his voice carrying the grim certainty of someone who understood exactly what they were facing. "With his Light-Light Fruit abilities, conventional escape is impossible. Even if we somehow reached a ship and managed to leave port, he could intercept us anywhere in the surrounding waters. His speed transcends normal physics."
The assessment was brutally honest. Kizaru's Devil Fruit didn't just grant enhanced movement, it allowed him to travel at light speed itself. No ship, no matter how advanced, could outrun someone who could circle the globe in seconds.
"Then what's the plan?" Dom asked desperately, his voice cracking with barely controlled panic. "If we can't escape by sea, and staying on the island means facing Admiral-level opposition, then how, "
"Admirals Akainu and Aokiji may not be at Marine Headquarters," Oboro interrupted, his analytical mind working through variables and probabilities. "They could be stationed in the New World, hunting Yonko crews or suppressing major uprisings. Even if they're available, reaching Sabaody from Marineford will take time, precious minutes we can exploit."
He paused at a street corner, his enhanced senses confirming their current route remained clear of Marine patrols. The systematic nature of their escape was already taking shape in his mind.
"Kizaru's speed is his greatest advantage, but it's also a limitation," Oboro continued with growing confidence. "He can move faster than anyone can react, but he still needs to locate his targets before attacking. Sabaody Archipelago isn't small, seventy-nine numbered groves spread across multiple islands. Even someone moving at light speed needs intelligence about where to search."
Dom's eyes lit up with understanding. "You're betting on the chaos buying us time?"
"More than that," Oboro replied with predatory satisfaction. "The survivors at the auction house will need time to process what they witnessed. The Donquixote Family executives will be focused on damage control and preventing panic. The Celestial Dragons who survived will be in shock, possibly unable to provide coherent reports immediately."
As they moved deeper into the lawless zones, the criminal infrastructure around them continued operating with business-as-usual efficiency. Pirates traded information and weapons, slavers conducted their grisly transactions, and the thousand illegal enterprises that made these districts profitable maintained their normal rhythms.
None of them realized that their sanctuary was about to become a war zone.
"Your contact with that East Blue merchant vessel was good thinking," Oboro acknowledged, his tone carrying genuine approval. "But not for the reasons you expected."
Dom's confusion was obvious. "I don't understand. If we can't actually use the ship to escape, "
"It's misdirection," Oboro explained patiently. "When the Marine begins their investigation, they'll discover your arrangements with that cargo ship. Their resources will be allocated to intercepting and searching that vessel, along with every other departure from the main ports."
The strategy was elegantly simple in its psychology. Human nature drove investigators to follow the most obvious leads first, especially when time pressure demanded immediate action. A cargo ship with mysterious passengers would attract overwhelming attention, drawing Marine forces away from other possibilities.
"But if we're not taking the ship, then how exactly are we getting off this island?" Dom pressed, his nervousness bleeding through despite Oboro's confident explanations.
Before Oboro could respond, the distinctive sound of marching boots echoed from the street ahead. Through the crowd, white Marine uniforms became visible as a patrol unit moved with urgent purpose toward their position.
Without hesitation, Oboro grabbed Dom's arm and pulled him into a narrow alley between two ramshackle buildings. The space reeked of garbage and unwashed bodies, but it provided crucial concealment from the main thoroughfare.
"They're responding faster than I expected," Oboro murmured with grudging admiration, his enhanced hearing tracking the patrol's movement patterns. "Whoever's coordinating this operation understands urban warfare."
The leading Marine officer possessed a formidable aura that spoke to significant combat experience. This wasn't a routine patrol, it was a hunting party specifically equipped to deal with dangerous fugitives.
"The ports will be sealed within the hour," Oboro continued, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. "Every dock, every pier, every loading area will have Marine personnel checking manifests and searching vessels. But that's exactly what I want them to focus on."
Dom's enhanced senses picked up additional patrol units moving through the surrounding streets. The Marine's response was systematic and comprehensive, designed to create an ever-tightening net that would eventually capture anyone trying to flee through conventional means.
"Then what's our alternative?" Dom asked desperately. "If every surface route is blocked, and the Marine controls the waters around the archipelago, how do we possibly, "
"Fishman Island," Oboro said simply.
The two words hit Dom like a physical blow. His eyes widened with horror as the implications crystallized in his mind.
"Boss, that's... that's completely insane. The underwater route to Fishman Island is only used by ships with professional coating and experienced navigators. The pressure alone would kill us within minutes, and the Sea Kings, "
"Normal pirates require ships because they lack the physical capabilities to survive the deep ocean environment," Oboro interrupted calmly. "But your transformation has elevated you beyond baseline human limitations. With proper preparation and technique, the journey becomes possible."
The analysis was coldly logical, but Dom's survival instincts recoiled from what seemed like elaborate suicide. The passage to Fishman Island descended through ten thousand meters of crushing ocean depths, inhabited by Sea Kings whose smallest specimens could swallow islands whole.
"The shipyard districts contain numerous small water sources that connect directly to the deep sea," Oboro continued, his tactical mind already mapping their route. "These inland pools and narrow channels are too small for conventional vessels, which means the Marine will focus their attention on the major departure points."
Dom's transformation had indeed granted him capabilities far beyond his original limitations. Enhanced lung capacity, increased durability, supernatural physical conditioning, all of which might, theoretically, allow survival in environments that would kill ordinary humans.
But theory and practice were entirely different things when facing the most dangerous ocean in the world.
"The Marine will never expect anyone to attempt underwater escape without a ship," Oboro observed with dark satisfaction. "It's beyond conventional tactical thinking, exactly the kind of impossible approach that creates opportunities."
As they moved deeper into the maze of back alleys and service passages that honeycombed the lawless zones, Dom found himself grappling with a mixture of terror and grudging admiration. His mysterious boss wasn't just thinking outside normal parameters, he was redefining what qualified as possible.
"Even if we somehow survive the descent," Dom said weakly, "the Sea Kings inhabiting those depths are legendary for their size and aggression. Some of them are larger than islands, and they view anything in their territory as either prey or threat."
"True," Oboro acknowledged with casual indifference. "But Sea Kings operate according to instinct and territorial behavior. They can be avoided through proper technique and understanding of their hunting patterns."
The confidence in his voice suggested experience that Dom couldn't begin to imagine. What kind of background did his boss possess that made him speak about legendary sea monsters as if they were minor inconveniences?
"This goes against everything I understand about survival," Dom admitted, his voice carrying the desperation of someone watching their last hopes crumble. "You're asking me to trust that we can accomplish something that experienced pirate crews wouldn't attempt even with proper equipment and preparation."
"I'm not asking you to trust me," Oboro replied with quiet intensity. "I'm telling you that this is our only path to survival. The alternative is facing Admiral Kizaru's pursuit, and that ends with our capture or death within hours."
The brutal honesty of the assessment silenced Dom's protests. He had witnessed enough of Oboro's capabilities to know that conventional thinking didn't apply to their situation. If his boss claimed this impossible route was their best option, then perhaps impossible was simply another word for improbable.
The sound of approaching footsteps forced them deeper into the alley's shadows. Another Marine patrol was conducting a systematic sweep of the area, their disciplined movements suggesting they were following a predetermined search pattern.
"The shipyard districts span groves fifty through fifty-nine," Oboro whispered, his enhanced perception tracking the patrol's progress. "Multiple water sources, varying sizes, different descent angles. The Marine can't possibly monitor them all simultaneously."
Dom's analytical mind began working through the logistics despite his terror. "Which specific location are you targeting?"
"A narrow channel in grove fifty-three," Oboro replied without hesitation. "It connects to a vertical shaft that descends directly into the deep ocean. The passage is too small for ships but adequate for individual swimmers."
The level of detail in his response suggested extensive prior reconnaissance. How long had Oboro been planning for this contingency? Had he always known that their eventual escape might require such extreme measures?
"The soil and rock layers beneath Sabaody are relatively thin in that area," Oboro continued with the tone of someone delivering a technical briefing. "The descent to open ocean takes approximately twelve minutes at maximum swimming speed. Beyond that point, navigation becomes a matter of following thermal currents toward Fishman Island."
Twelve minutes. Dom tried to imagine holding his breath for twelve minutes while swimming through crushing depths that would implode normal human bodies. His transformation had enhanced his capabilities dramatically, but such demands seemed beyond even supernatural endurance.
"What about navigation once we reach the deep ocean?" Dom asked, clinging to practical concerns as his mind struggled with the scope of what they were attempting.
"Fishman Island generates distinctive electromagnetic signatures that can be detected by enhanced senses," Oboro explained patiently. "The Yarukiman Mangrove trees also create magnetic field disturbances that provide reference points during descent."
Every answer demonstrated preparation and knowledge that suggested this wasn't desperate improvisation. Oboro had genuinely calculated their chances and found this approach viable, despite its apparent impossibility.
The Marine patrol's footsteps faded into the distance, giving them another brief window of opportunity. Oboro immediately resumed movement, leading Dom through a labyrinthine route that avoided main streets while gradually approaching their target district.
"There's something you need to understand," Oboro said as they navigated between towering Yarukiman Mangroves whose roots created natural passages through the architecture. "This isn't just about escaping Sabaody Archipelago. What we accomplished tonight will reshape the political landscape of the entire Grand Line."
Dom's enhanced hearing picked up fragments of conversation from nearby buildings. Pirates discussing unusual Marine activity, merchants wondering about increased patrols, criminal organizations trying to assess whether their operations were compromised.
"The death of a Celestial Dragon represents more than assassination," Oboro continued with growing intensity. "It's a declaration that the World Government's authority isn't absolute. That their so-called gods can bleed and die like anyone else."
The implications were staggering. For eight hundred years, the World Nobles had ruled through the absolute certainty that they were untouchable. Their casual cruelty was enabled by universal belief that challenging them meant facing consequences beyond imagination.
"Other pirates, revolutionaries, kingdoms that chafe under World Government control, they'll all be watching how the Marine responds to tonight's events," Oboro observed with predatory satisfaction. "If we escape successfully, it proves that even the most protected targets can be reached."
Dom found himself thinking about the broader consequences of their actions for the first time. His focus had been entirely on personal survival, but Oboro was playing a much larger game that could influence the balance of power across the entire world.
"You're not just trying to escape," Dom realized with growing awe. "You're trying to start a revolution."
"I'm trying to survive," Oboro corrected with dark amusement. "But survival sometimes requires changing the rules of the game itself."
As they approached the shipyard districts, the sound of industrial activity became more prominent. Hammering, sawing, the creak of rope and wood as vessels underwent coating procedures for underwater travel. The irony wasn't lost on either of them, they were preparing to attempt the same journey those ships required extensive preparation to survive.
"Boss," Dom said quietly, his voice carrying a note of resolution that hadn't been there before. "Whatever happens down there, I want you to know that following you has been the most extraordinary experience of my life."
"Save the sentiment for after we reach Fishman Island," Oboro replied with gruff affection. "We still have a descent to survive and whatever Admiral-level pursuit follows our discovery."
In the distance, the sound of Den Den Mushi communications crackled through the night air as various Marine units coordinated their search efforts. The net was tightening with each passing moment, but their destination remained tantalizingly close.
The most dangerous part of their entire plan was about to begin, and success would depend on abilities that had never been tested under such extreme conditions.
But for the first time since leaving the auction house, Oboro felt genuine optimism about their chances. The world might want him dead, but he had just proven that even gods could be made to bleed.
Now he simply had to survive long enough to reach the next stage of whatever game he was playing with forces that operated on a cosmic scale.