The horizon blazed with the distinctive white sails of the World Government's retribution.
Marine warships stretched across the waters surrounding Sabaody Archipelago like the teeth of a closing trap, their sheer number defying comprehension. Civilians watching from the shoreline felt their blood turn to ice as they counted vessel after vessel, more military might than most had ever seen concentrated in one place.
This wasn't a typical Marine operation. This was the full wrath of the World Government made manifest.
The moment boots hit the docks, everything changed. White-uniformed soldiers poured through the streets like a flood, their movements coordinated with the precision of a well-oiled machine. Every intersection, every alley, every possible escape route was systematically sealed off as the net tightened around the archipelago.
What struck observers most was the complete absence of the Marine's usual restraint. There were no warnings, no attempts at negotiation, no efforts to minimize civilian disruption. Orders were barked with military efficiency: every building searched, every resident confined to their homes, every business forced to close immediately.
The lawless zones, those chaotic districts where pirates had found sanctuary for decades, were hit hardest of all. The criminals who had thought themselves safe in their traditional strongholds discovered that nowhere was beyond the reach of truly motivated Marine forces. Pirates scattered like startled birds, diving into hideouts that had protected them for years, only to find white uniforms already waiting in the shadows.
Even residents of the numbered groves far from criminal activity found themselves under virtual house arrest. Shop owners pulled down their shutters with trembling hands, parents gathered their children close, and the entire archipelago held its collective breath as the Marines demonstrated exactly what happened when someone crossed lines that should never be crossed.
The scope was staggering. Even when Luffy had punched a Celestial Dragon in the original timeline, the response had been significant but contained. This was something else entirely, a mobilization that suggested the World Government viewed the current threat as existential rather than merely embarrassing.
Dom followed behind Oboro with the desperate focus of a drowning man clinging to driftwood, his enhanced senses screaming warnings about the overwhelming military presence surrounding them. His face had gone pale as parchment, beads of sweat trickling down his temples despite the cool ocean breeze.
The transformation that had granted him supernatural abilities felt meaningless in the face of such overwhelming force. Enhanced strength and speed meant nothing against thousands of disciplined soldiers backed by Vice Admiral-level leadership and possibly Admiral intervention.
"Boss," Dom whispered urgently, his voice barely audible above the distant sounds of combat and shouted orders. "The entire island is locked down. I've never seen anything like this, not even during the worst pirate uprisings. There are Marines on every street, in every building. How are we supposed to, "
"Move," Oboro interrupted quietly, his enhanced perception tracking patrol patterns with supernatural precision.
What amazed Dom most was that despite being unfamiliar with Sabaody's geography, Oboro seemed to possess an almost preternatural understanding of Marine deployment tactics. Every time a patrol threatened to intercept them, every time a search team moved to cut off their route, somehow his mysterious boss identified gaps in the coverage that shouldn't have existed.
It was as if Oboro could see through walls, around corners, into the minds of the soldiers hunting them. His navigation through the tightening net displayed a level of tactical awareness that bordered on prescience.
"That's a Vice Admiral from Marine Headquarters!" Dom's voice cracked with recognition as they observed a street battle from concealment.
The conflict was brutally one-sided. A group of pirates who might have held their own against regular Marine forces was being systematically dismantled by a mere hundred soldiers led by a figure whose very presence radiated lethal authority. Where previous operations had focused on capture and interrogation, these Marines showed no such restraint. Orders were simple: eliminate all resistance with maximum efficiency.
The Vice Admiral leading the assault moved with the fluid grace of someone whose combat abilities had been honed through decades of warfare against the most dangerous criminals in the world. His casual handling of multiple pirate captains simultaneously spoke to a level of power that made Dom's enhanced abilities seem like party tricks.
"If they've deployed Vice Admirals for routine sweep operations," Dom realized with growing horror, "then the command structure for this operation must include, "
"Admirals," Oboro confirmed grimly. "Multiple Admirals, if my assessment is correct. The World Government isn't taking any chances."
The implications crashed over Dom like a tsunami. Admiral-level threats represented forces of nature disguised as human beings. Individuals who could reshape geography with casual effort, whose very presence could turn battlefields into landscapes of devastation. Against such opponents, conventional escape strategies became meaningless exercises in futility.
Yet Oboro's footsteps never faltered, his breathing remained controlled, and his tactical awareness continued identifying paths through seemingly impossible obstacles. Whatever plan he was executing, it operated on principles that transcended normal military thinking.
"The rules have changed," Oboro observed with clinical detachment as they skirted the edge of another brutal engagement. "The Marine has been given carte blanche to use whatever force necessary. No prisoners, no mercy, no concern for collateral damage. They want to send a message that will resonate across the entire Grand Line."
Dom watched in horrified fascination as Oboro casually broke the necks of several Marines who had spotted their movement. The kills were executed with surgical precision, no wasted motion, no unnecessary violence, just clinical elimination of obstacles. The bodies hit the ground before their comrades could even register what had happened.
"Indiscriminate termination protocols," Dom whispered, understanding flooding through him like ice water. "They're not trying to arrest anyone. This is a purge."
For the first time in their operational history, the Marines had abandoned their carefully maintained image of justice and restraint. The death of a Celestial Dragon had triggered response procedures that treated every potential threat as an enemy combatant to be eliminated rather than a criminal to be captured.
"Keep moving," Oboro urged, his enhanced senses mapping the positions of dozens of soul signatures throughout the surrounding streets.
His spiritual awareness functioned like three-dimensional radar, providing information that conventional intelligence gathering could never match. Each Marine patrol became a glowing constellation in his perception, their movement patterns and tactical objectives clearly visible despite walls, buildings, and distance.
This was the true source of his navigational superiority. While Dom could only react to threats as they became visible, Oboro operated with complete situational awareness that extended for several city blocks in every direction. The souls of living beings betrayed their positions, intentions, and capabilities with crystal clarity.
The power was foreign to this world's established systems, a remnant of abilities developed in entirely different realities. The governing will of the One Piece world could suppress many of his capabilities, but it couldn't eliminate his fundamental nature as a being who had transcended normal human limitations.
After navigating through a maze of patrols and combat zones that would have trapped any conventional fugitive, they finally reached their intended destination. The familiar terrain of the port district came into view, though the area bore little resemblance to its usual chaotic bustle.
Where dozens of ships should have been loading and unloading cargo, only empty docks stretched into the distance. Where merchants and pirates should have been conducting their business, only Marines maintained their vigilant watch. The entire commercial infrastructure of Sabaody Archipelago had been shut down with ruthless efficiency.
Two figures immediately caught Oboro's attention among the Marine forces securing the waterfront. Vice Admiral Bastille stood like a monument of military authority, his massive sword resting casually across his shoulders while his eyes swept the approaches with predatory focus. His reputation for ruthless efficiency had been earned through decades of successful operations against the most dangerous pirates in the world.
Beside him, Vice Admiral Stires maintained his own vigil, his distinctive appearance marking him as another veteran of the Marines' elite leadership. The coordination between these two represented military professionalism at its absolute peak, overlapping fields of observation, complementary tactical capabilities, and the kind of battlefield awareness that came from surviving countless encounters with superhuman opponents.
The positioning was tactically perfect. Any conventional escape attempt through this area would face immediate detection and overwhelming response. Even someone with Admiral-level capabilities would find the approach challenging, given the terrain advantages and coordinated defensive positions.
But Oboro's attention wasn't focused on the obvious obstacles. His enhanced perception had detected something that changed the entire tactical calculation.
There, on a small hill overlooking the marine checkpoint, stood a familiar establishment that most would dismiss as irrelevant to their situation. The bar perched like a weathered crow's nest, its modest facade deliberately unremarkable despite hosting one of the most dangerous individuals in the world.
Dom's enhanced vision caught a glimpse of white hair through one of the building's windows. His breath caught in his throat as recognition struck him like a physical blow.
"That's him," Dom whispered with mixture of hope and terror. "The old man who removed your collar. Silvers Rayleigh."
The Dark King sat casually outside his refuge, a bottle balanced in his weathered hands as he observed the military occupation with the detached amusement of someone watching an entertaining performance. A line of Marine soldiers maintained their positions roughly ten meters from his location, though their body language suggested they viewed him as nothing more than a harmless drunk.
If they only knew what kind of monster they were ignoring.
Rayleigh's posture seemed relaxed to the point of indifference, but Oboro's enhanced perception caught subtle details that revealed the truth. The former Roger Pirates first mate was perfectly aware of everything happening around him, his legendary Observation Haki providing complete situational awareness despite his casual appearance.
More importantly, the reflection in his glasses revealed two small figures moving through the terrain, Dom and Oboro themselves, their approach already detected and analyzed by someone whose sensory capabilities far exceeded anything the Marines possessed.
He knows we're here, Oboro realized with grim satisfaction.
The discovery confirmed his growing understanding of the tactical situation. While the two Vice Admirals possessed respectable Haki abilities, their range and precision couldn't match someone who had spent decades at the absolute pinnacle of combat mastery. They remained focused on conventional threats while the true apex predator in the area observed everything with casual omniscience.
Rayleigh caught Oboro's gaze across the distance, and for a moment, their eyes met with perfect understanding. The old pirate's lips curved into an amused smile that spoke volumes about his assessment of the current situation.
Will you intervene? Oboro wondered, though the question carried more curiosity than desperation.
Even without Rayleigh's assistance, escape remained possible through his dimensional manipulation abilities. But the Dark King's involvement could transform a difficult extraction into something approaching routine, while sending a message that would resonate throughout the criminal underworld.
The former Roger Pirates first mate represented more than just overwhelming individual power. His very presence on Sabaody Archipelago served as a reminder that some individuals existed beyond the reach of conventional authority. If he chose to act, it would demonstrate that even the World Government's most extreme responses could be challenged by those with sufficient will and capability.
From his elevated position, Rayleigh had undoubtedly pieced together the basic facts of the situation. Shakky's information networks would have provided details about the auction house incident, the death of Saint Charlos, and the unprecedented manhunt that had followed. The old pirate understood exactly what kind of statement Oboro had made and what the consequences were likely to be.
"Young people nowadays are truly remarkable," Rayleigh's voice carried clearly across the distance as he took another leisurely sip from his bottle. "I have to admit I'm getting old."
The comment seemed like meaningless drunk rambling to the nearby Marines, but Oboro caught the underlying message with crystal clarity. Recognition, approval, and perhaps even a hint of nostalgic pride in seeing someone willing to challenge the established order.
"The future looks promising indeed."
Without warning, Rayleigh rose from his position and began stumbling down the hillside with the exaggerated movements of someone deep in their cups. His bottle waved dangerously as he navigated the slope, creating the perfect image of a harmless drunk who had consumed far too much alcohol.
The Marines' reaction was immediate and predictable.
"Hey! Old man, get back up there!" The nearest soldier turned away from his assigned observation sector, irritation clear in his voice. "You can't wander around during lockdown!"
"Someone stop him!" another Marine called out as Rayleigh's meandering path brought him closer to their defensive positions. "That drunk is going to compromise our sight lines!"
"This guy's stronger than he looks!" came a panicked shout as multiple soldiers moved to intercept the seemingly harmless civilian. "I need assistance!"
What followed was a masterpiece of calculated chaos. Rayleigh's "drunken" stumbling led him directly into the Marines' formation, his apparent clumsiness forcing them to break their carefully maintained positions to deal with what appeared to be a minor nuisance.
Within moments, the perfectly coordinated defensive line had devolved into a struggling mass of soldiers trying to contain one belligerent drunk who seemed impossibly difficult to subdue. Shouts and confusion echoed across the checkpoint as tactical discipline crumbled in the face of an problem that shouldn't have existed.
The two Vice Admirals maintained their broader observation patterns, but their subordinates' attention was completely focused on the disturbance. For the first time since the manhunt began, a genuine gap had appeared in the surveillance network.
Oboro didn't waste the opportunity. His enhanced perception confirmed that the window would remain open for perhaps thirty seconds, enough time for someone with his capabilities to reach the water and begin the most dangerous phase of their escape plan.
"Move," he whispered to Dom, and both figures exploded into motion with supernatural speed.
The descent to Fishman Island was about to begin, and whether they survived the journey would depend on abilities that had never been tested under such extreme conditions.
Behind them, Rayleigh's laughter echoed across the hillside as the Dark King provided his own commentary on the evening's entertainment. The old pirate understood exactly what he had just enabled, and his amusement suggested that the World Government's troubles were far from over.
The most dangerous part of their entire plan was about to commence, but for the first time since leaving the auction house, Oboro felt genuine confidence in their chances.
Even the mightiest navy in the world couldn't chase them into the crushing depths of the ocean floor, and what waited at the bottom might just provide the sanctuary they needed to plan their next moves.
The game was entering its underwater phase, and the stakes had never been higher.