The hallway stretched endlessly, its walls slick with condensation that dripped like the slow bleed of old wounds. Casimir's boots echoed with deliberate malice, the sound swallowed by the suffocating dark. His remaining eye—a cold, reptilian yellow—glinted beneath the eyepatch that hid the ruin Marya had carved into him. The air reeked of salt and iron, a metallic tang that clung to his teeth.
At the end of the corridor, five silhouettes sat shrouded in gloom behind a table of blackened wood. Their forms wavered like smoke, featureless save for the faint gleam of masks—onyx, ivory, jade, bronze, and bone. Casimir halted, his voice a serrated purr.
"Reparation."
The silence thickened. The jade-masked figure shifted, its voice a chorus of whispers. "You overstep, Casimir."
"Do I?" He unsheathed a claw, dragging it across the table. The wood screamed, splintering under his velociraptor's talon. "You promised the Consortium's secrets. You promised her. Yet here I stand, half-blind, while Dracule's whelp licks her wounds."
The onyx mask tilted. "Failure is your own."
Casimir's snarl ripped through the room. "Then let the Marines judge whose failure runs deeper. How long before I whisper your names to Akainu? How long before this island burns?"
The silhouettes stiffened. The bone-masked figure leaned forward, its voice a dry rasp. "What do you require?"
"Blood. And her head."
A door creaked open behind the table, moonlight slicing through the dark. Three figures stepped into the pallid glow.
Kuro adjusted his cracked glasses with the back of his wrist, the lenses glinting like fractured ice. His Cat Claws—serrated blades strapped to his hands—clicked softly. "A plan, then," he murmured, voice oscillating between the crisp cadence of Klahadore and the guttural growl of Kuro. "How… refined."
Ember twirled a slingshot rifle, her Lolita dress a riot of pink and black lace against the gloom. Bangles jingled on her wrists, each bead a miniature explosive. Her giggles skittered like shrapnel. "Oooh, heads are fun! But do we get to play first? Blow up her toes? Her teeth?" She paused, pupils dilating as if seeing phantoms. "Daddy always said I shouldn't play with matches…"
Souta lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, tattoos writhing across his skin—a serpent coiling around his neck, a wolf snarling on his forearm. His gaze swept the room, dismissing Casimir, the silhouettes, the very air. "This is beneath me," he said flatly. "But… entertaining."
Casimir's eye narrowed. "You expect me to trust these clowns?"
The ivory mask spoke, its tone glacial. "Kuro's plans never fail. Ember's touch turns flesh to ash. Souta's shadows strangle nations. They are… efficient."
Kuro pushed his glasses up, the crescent moon's light catching his blades. "Efficiency is dull. But a challenge…" His lips split into a feral grin. "Dracule's bloodline? A delight."
Ember skipped forward, her slingshot aimed playfully at Casimir's chest. "Will you cry when we bring her head? Will you? I'll stuff it with fireworks! Pop-pop-pop!" Her laughter spiraled into a shriek as she slammed her palm against the wall, the stone erupting into a crater of molten rock.
Souta sighed, examining his nails. "Emotional labor. Exhausting." A tattooed hawk peeled from his wrist, soaring to his shoulder. "But fine. I'll choreograph their… chaos."
Casimir's claws retracted. "Fail, and I'll peel your masks off one by one."
The bone-masked silhouette rose, its shadow engulfing the room. "The crescent moon rises in three nights. Bring her heart before it wanes."
As the door slammed shut, Kuro's glasses slipped, revealing eyes glazed with bloodlust. Ember hummed a lullaby, fingers dancing over her explosives. Souta's tattoos pulsed, scripting a massacre only he could see.
And Casimir smiled, the void in his socket aching like a second mouth.
*****
The Polar Tang's alarms wailed like a choir of distressed seagulls as Law and Marya stormed through the narrow corridors. Crewmates scrambled out of their path, gawking as Marya passed—half at her resurrected arm, half at the cursed sword strapped to her back.
"Move it, rookies!" Shachi barked, though he paused mid-stride to whistle. "Whoa, she's got the scowl down. Mini-Mihawk, confirmed."
"Bet she's worse at poker," Penguin snorted, tossing a bag of rice to Jean Bart.
"Less chatter," Law growled, though his smirk betrayed him. "Save the commentary for the funeral."
Marya ignored them, bursting onto the deck—and immediately groaned. Her submarine, lay lashed to the Tang's hull, its once-sleek frame crumpled like a discarded soda can. "You wrecked it!"
Law rolled his eyes. "You crashed into us. Focus."
He pointed ahead. A Marine warship loomed, its cannons gleaming like polished teeth. The deck swarmed with soldiers, a rear admiral barking orders through a den den mushi. Marya squinted. "That's the threat? Cute."
Law raised an eyebrow. "By all means, princess. Impress us."
Marya's fingers tightened around Eternal Eclipse's hilt, the obsidian blade humming with a low, predatory vibration. The runes etched along its length flared to life, crimson light pulsing like a heartbeat as the void veins in her arm writhed beneath her skin, hot and insistent. She closed her eyes, drawing in a breath that tasted of salt and iron, and mirrored the stance she'd seen her father take a thousand times—knees bent, weight balanced on the balls of her feet, the sword raised in a perfect arc toward the cloud-choked sky.
The sword's spirit clawed at her mind, a feral whisper: More. Give me more.
Her Haki surged in response, a torrent of willpower that burned through the curse's corruption. The void veins glowed faintly, black tendrils retreating momentarily as her Conqueror's Haki fused with the blade. Sweat beaded on her brow, her muscles trembling—not from weakness, but from the raw, conflicting forces tearing through her: Mihawk's precision, the void's hunger, her own desperate resolve.
"Black Crescent," she hissed through gritted teeth.
The swing was ungainly, a far cry from her father's elegant, world-cleaving strikes. Yet as the blade descended, the air itself seemed to fracture. A crescent of pure void energy erupted from the sword's edge—a tear in reality, ink-black and devouring all light. It screamed silently across the water, the sea parting beneath it in a trench that hissed with vaporized foam.
The Marine warship never stood a chance.
The void crescent struck midship, slicing through reinforced steel and screaming sailors alike. For a heartbeat, the vessel hung intact, a grotesque diorama of frozen panic—cannons half-loaded, a rear admiral mid-shout, a teacup suspended in midair from some officer's shattered grip. Then, with a deafening crunch, the halves collapsed inward, crumpling like paper in a fist before being swallowed whole by the void's wake. The sea rushed to fill the vacuum, churning into a whirlpool that dragged down debris, splinters, and the terrified cries of Marines who'd plunged overboard.
On the Polar Tang's deck, the crew stared in stunned silence.
"Yep," Penguin muttered, crossing his arms. "That's a Dracule, alright."
Jean Bart crossed his arms, grudgingly impressed. "Clean cut. For a rookie."
Shachi mimed wiping a tear. "Papa Hawk would be so proud."
Marya wobbled, her arm trembling, but before she could fall, a fluffy white blur barreled into her peripheral vision.
Bepo stood at the railing, clutching a map and a half-eaten rice ball. "Captain! Should I—eh?!"
Marya froze. Then her eyes widened, gray irises sparkling like dawn breaking storm clouds. "Oh. My. God."
Law sighed. "Don't."
"Is that a polar bear?"
"Don't. Touch."
Too late. Marya lunged, dropping her sword to scoop Bepo into a hug, her void-riddled arm forgotten. "You're adorable! What's your name? Do you like head scratches? Can I keep you?"
Bepo flailed, rice ball squishing against her shoulder. "I-I'm Bepo! And I'm not a pet—ack!"
Marya nuzzled his fur. "So soft! Do you hibernate? Have you ever met a seal? Can you do tricks?"
Law pinched the bridge of his nose. "Marya. Priorities."
"Right, right." Marya set Bepo down reluctantly, then spun to face the sinking Marine wreckage, hands on her hips. "So, what's next? Another ship? A sea king? A bigger bear?"
Bepo inched behind Penguin, whispering, "Is she always like this?"
"Worse," Law muttered. "She's enthusiastic."
As the crew erupted into laughter—even Jean Bart cracking a rare grin—Marya scooped Eternal Eclipse off the deck, the sword's grumble lost in the chaos. Law watched her, the ghost of a smile tugging his lips.
Mihawk's blade. Rocinante's heart. And a polar bear's fan club.
The New World just got weirder.
The Polar Tang's galley was a cacophony of clattering dishes and half-hearted arguments. Shachi and Penguin arm-wrestled over the last dumpling while Bepo nibbled a rice ball, ears twitching nervously. Marya sat cross-legged on the table, sketching a map of the Dawnless City's coordinates on a napkin with a stolen crayon. Law leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, his gaze flicking between her scribbles and the sword propped beside her—Eternal Eclipse's runes dimmed but watchful.
"So," Law drawled, cutting through the chaos, "this 'Dawnless City.' You're sure it's not just another pile of rubble?"
Marya didn't look up. "I am not sure of anything. It was my mother's life's work." She circled a cluster of islands with a flourish. "Also, it's guarded by a sentient hurricane. So, you know. Charming spot."
Law plucked the napkin from her hands, squinting at the crayon smudges. "And you've got… this to go on."
"It's abstract art," she said defensively. "You wouldn't understand."
Bepo peeked over Law's shoulder. "Captain, that looks like a… uh… squid wearing a hat?"
"It's a titan's skull," Marya huffed, snatching the napkin back. "Anyway, I'll translate the Poneglyph rubbings and decrypt my mother's notes—"
"—if we fix your sub," Law finished, eyebrow raised. "Which you crashed into us."
Marya jabbed the crayon at the porthole, where her mangled submarine hung like a metal carcass lashed to the Tang's hull. "That's a minor dent! And your navigation must have short-circuited first!"
Penguin snorted. "She's got you there, Captain."
Law ignored him. "Fine. But you'll decrypt everything. No 'accidentally' skipping the parts about how this city could blow up the Grand Line."
Marya grinned, tossing the crayon over her shoulder. "Deal. But you handle the sentient hurricane."
"Deal," Law said flatly. "Bepo, fetch Ikkaku. We're rebuilding a sub."
The submarine's repair operation quickly devolved into chaos. Ikkaku, the Tang's engineer, stood waist-deep in the sub's cockpit, welding torch in hand, shouting over the noise. "Who designed this junk?! The engine's held together by hope and seaweed!"
Marya leaned against the railing, arms crossed. "It's vintage."
"It's a death trap!" Ikkaku lobbed a charred gear at Shachi, who ducked with a yelp.
Law flipped through Elisabeta's notebook, reading Marya's annotations. "'Titans' bones choke the sky'… 'void's cradle'… Care to elaborate?"
Marya swiped the book back. "It's poetic! Mom had flair." She flipped to a page scrawled with celestial diagrams. "See? The Dawnless City aligns with these stars every 100 years. Next alignment's in two weeks. Miss it, and we wait a century."
Law's eyes narrowed. "Convenient deadline."
"Adventure thrives on deadlines!" Marya hopped onto the sub's hull, balancing precariously as she pointed at the sky. "We'll sail under the Blood Moon, dodge the hurricane, and boom—history's greatest secrets, ours for the taking!"
Bepo clutched his ears. "Please don't say 'boom'…"
Law pinched the bridge of his nose. "We're all going to die."
Marya plopped down beside him, swinging her legs over the edge. "C'mon, Surgeon. Where's your curiosity? Your thirst for the unknown?"
"Drowned in a sea of idiocy," Law muttered. But he didn't move away.
Jean Bart lumbered past, hauling a steel plate the size of a banquet table. "Captain. The sub's navigation system is fried. We'll need parts."
The Polar Tang's engine room was a cathedral of shadows, its labyrinth of pipes and gears throbbing with the submarine's heartbeat—a low, rhythmic hum that vibrated through the steel floor. Marya sat wedged between two coolant tanks, her back pressed to the cold metal, knees drawn to her chest. The air tasted of oil and salt, the dim glow of emergency lights painting her hands in streaks of orange.
Eternal Eclipse lay across her lap, its obsidian blade dull in the half-light. She flexed her right hand slowly, watching the black veins beneath her skin writhe like dormant serpents. The numbness was gone, replaced by a phantom ache—Law's handiwork, a miracle she hadn't earned.
Vaughn would've laughed at that.
The memory came unbidden: Vaughn leaning against the Consortium's archive shelves, his double-sided ax propped beside him, grinning as he tossed her a candied almond. "Guilt's a luxury. Save it for the people who can afford to stand still."
Now he was ash. Because of her.
She traced the sword's sharp edge, the runes pulsing faintly under her touch. Could Mihawk have mastered you? The question gnawed. Her father's face flickered in her mind—steely calm, always calm, even as she'd stormed out of Kuraigana. Where was he now? Drunk on wine in some forgotten kingdom? Or sharpening Yoru, wondering if his daughter had finally died?
A rusted pipe creaked overhead, snapping her back. Her left hand drifted to the kogatana at her neck. She imagined her mother, Elisabeta's voice, scribbling notes by candlelight: "The Dawnless City isn't a place. It's a reckoning."
Footsteps echoed—deliberate, unhurried. Law appeared in the doorway, his lean frame silhouetted by the corridor's harsh light. He didn't speak, just leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, Kikoku's eye glinting in the dark.
Marya didn't look up. "Come to collect your debt already?"
"Debt's accruing interest," he said flatly. "But no. Bepo's worried you'll short-circuit the engines."
She snorted. "Tell Bepo I'm flattered."
Silence stretched, thick with the engine's drone. Law's gaze lingered on the sword. "Regretting our deal?"
"Regret's a luxury," she murmured, echoing Vaughn. "But thanks. For the arm."
Law pushed off the wall, stepping into the gloom. "It'll rot again. Faster, if you keep feeding that thing." He nodded at Eternal Eclipse.
"Cheery prognosis."
"Truth's a scalpel. Doesn't care if it cuts."
Marya's fingers tightened on the hilt. "Why'd you really come?"
Law paused, then sat beside her, the distance between them measured. "Who are you thinking about?"
She stiffened. "Someone I couldn't save. How did you know I was thinking about someone? Scan that too?"
"Didn't need to. You've got the same look as someone I couldn't save." His voice softened, almost imperceptibly. "Before he died."
The admission hung between them, raw and unexpected. Marya glanced at him—really looked. The shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw. How many ghosts does he carry?
"Your mother's notes," Law said abruptly. "The Dawnless City's coordinates. They're incomplete."
Marya braced. "I've shared everything."
"No. You haven't." He met her gaze, amber eyes piercing. "There's a page missing. One you're keeping close."
Her hand flew to her coat pocket, where one of Elisabeta's final letters lay folded. Law's smirk was razor-thin.
"Guilty."
"It's personal," she hissed.
"Everything's personal. Until it's not." He stood, brushing dust from his jeans. "We dock at the next island in twelve hours. Decide by then if trust's a currency you can spend."
Alone again, Marya unfolded the letter, her mother's elegant script blurring under her tears. "To Marya," it began. "The Dawnless City holds the key to the world's chains. Forge the blade. Break them."
Outside, the ocean pressed against the hull, vast and unyielding. Somewhere beneath its waves, a hurricane waited.
Marya sheathed Eternal Eclipse, its weight familiar, hated, hers.