The deck of the Thousand Sunny has become a carnival of chaos.
Fire blooms from a dozen different points—orange and red and sickly yellow, painting the gray fog in shades of hell. Lightning arcs across the sky, blue-white and crackling, splitting the air with thunder that rattles teeth and bones. Wood splinters. Metal screams. And through it all, the sounds of battle—clashing steel, screaming voices, the particular crack of something breaking that should never break.
Usopp runs.
His long legs pump against the warped deck, his arms windmilling at his sides, his eyes wide with the particular terror of a man who has seen too many horror movies to stick around for the sequel. Behind him—above him—around him—Ember cackles.
The sound is wrong. High and manic and delighted, the laugh of a child who has found a new game, the laugh of a predator who has cornered her prey. It bounces off the railings, echoes across the deck, fills Usopp's ears until he can hear nothing else.
"WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM, LADY?!"
He doesn't look back. He can't look back. Looking back means seeing her—seeing those mismatched eyes, one icy blue and one gold, both burning with something that isn't quite sanity. Looking back means facing the truth: that he's being hunted by a madwoman with a slingshot rifle and an imaginary brother who tells her to play games.
Ember's voice drifts through the smoke, singsong and sweet.
"Josiah says you have to play with me!"
Usopp's blood runs cold.
"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!" He ducks as a sparkler round explodes against the mast beside his head, showering him with splinters and heat. "WHO IS JOSIAH?! ARE YOU CRAZY?!"
BOOM.
Another explosion. Closer this time. Close enough that Usopp feels the heat on his face, smells the sulfur and smoke, tastes the ash on his tongue.
He screeches—a sound that is neither dignified nor heroic, but is very Usopp.
"WHY ARE YOU CHASING ME?!"
Tears stream from his eyes. Not tears of sadness—tears of pure, unadulterated terror. His legs pump faster. His arms windmill harder. His voice rises to a pitch that would make a Den Den Mushi jealous.
"SOMEONE HELP ME!"
Ember skips.
Not runs—skips. Her boots tap against the deck in a rhythm that matches her singsong voice, her pink space buns bouncing with each step, her tattered dress fluttering in the heated wind.
"Ip, dip, sky blue," she chants, spinning in a lazy circle. "Who's it? Not you."
She stops. Her head tilts. Her mismatched eyes fix on Usopp's retreating back.
"Josiah says it is you."
Usopp sees his opportunity.
Ember is distracted—spinning, cackling, playing. Her back is turned. Her guard is down. And Usopp—Usopp is a sniper. A marksman. A warrior of the sea.
He spins.
His hand moves to Black Kabuto—the massive slingshot that has been his companion through countless battles. His fingers find the pouch. His arm draws back.
"FIRE BALL STAR!"
The projectile launches—a sphere of concentrated flame that streaks through the air like a comet. It flies true. It flies perfect. It's going to hit. It's going to—
Ember jumps.
Not gracefully—not with the practiced ease of a trained warrior. She just jumps, her body twisting in the air, her dress flaring around her, her cackle rising to a shriek of delight. The Fire Ball Star passes beneath her, missing by inches, and explodes against the railing behind her.
Wood shatters. Fire blooms. And Ember lands on her feet, unharmed, her grin stretching wider.
Usopp stares.
His jaw drops. His arms lower. His brain—which has been running at combat speed for the past several minutes—screeches to a halt.
I missed.
He waits for the smoke to clear. He waits for Ember to fall. He waits for something to happen that makes sense.
The smoke begins to thin.
Ember steps through.
Her expression has changed. The manic delight is still there—the crazy eyes, the too-wide grin—but there's something else underneath. Something darker. Something hungrier.
Usopp swallows hard.
"Oh no."
His knees begin to shake. His hands tremble. His voice comes out small, terrified, broken.
"I'm sorry."
Ember's head tilts. Her grin doesn't waver.
"Josiah says cheaters have to pay."
Usopp's head shakes—violently, desperately, the motion of a man who has suddenly realized he's in way over his head.
"But I don't have anything to pay with!"
Ember shoulders Helltide. The slingshot rifle rises, its barrel aimed directly at Usopp's chest. Her eyes gleam.
"Josiah says that's not what he meant."
Usopp screeches.
"YOU ARE CRAZY!"
He spins—turning, running, fleeing—just as Ember launches a barrage of sparkler rounds. The explosions chase him across the deck, blooming at his heels like malignant flowers. Heat washes over him. Shrapnel bites at his skin. Smoke fills his lungs.
He runs.
He doesn't know where he's going. He doesn't know how long he can keep this up. He just knows that he has to move, has to survive, has to find some way out of this nightmare.
His head swivels.
His eyes land on Sanji.
The cook kneels on the deck, his head bowed, his body bent in a posture of absolute devotion. His voice carries across the chaos—loud, dramatic, pathetic.
"I would carry you across the heavens themselves! I would swim through the deepest oceans! I would—"
Usopp's eyes widen.
"SANJI! YOU GOTTA—"
His words die in his throat.
Aurélie stands over Sanji, her silver hair drifting in the heated wind, her steel-gray eyes cold and dismissive. Anathema rests in her grip—the black blade humming with a sound that makes Usopp's teeth ache.
She lifts the sword.
She swings.
The arc of Haki that leaves the blade is invisible but felt—a wave of pressure that makes the air itself tremble. It strikes the forward mast and the massive wooden pole shatters.
Wood chips rain down like snow.
Usopp screams.
"NO!"
But his voice is lost in the chaos—swallowed by explosions, by thunder, by the particular roar of a ship being torn apart piece by piece.
He watches as Sanji rises. Watches as the cook lifts Aurélie in his arms—bridal style, because of course he does—and begins to sky-walk away from the deck. Watches as the woman who just shattered their mast allows herself to be carried, her expression unreadable, her blade still drawn.
Usopp's jaw drops.
"SANJI! WHAT ARE YOU—"
The ship lurches.
The Sunny bucks—a violent, wrenching motion that sends everyone on deck stumbling. A massive wave crashes over the railing, cold and salty, soaking Usopp to the bone. He loses his footing. His arms windmill. His body pitches sideways.
He scrambles.
His hands find purchase on something—a railing, a rope, a piece of debris—and he pulls himself upright. His breath comes in ragged gasps. His heart pounds against his ribs.
And Ember is still firing.
Sparkler rounds explode around him—left, right, above, below. The deck becomes a minefield of fire and shrapnel. Usopp covers his head, rolling, crawling, scrambling for cover.
He finds it.
The tangerine trees—Nami's precious grove, transplanted from Cocoyasi Village, thriving despite the chaos around them. Their leaves are singed. Their branches are scorched. But they're still standing.
Usopp dives behind them.
He presses his back against a trunk, his chest heaving, his eyes wide. The explosions continue for a moment—and then stop.
Silence.
Not true silence—the battle still rages around him, explosions and thunder and screaming voices. But the immediate threat has passed. Ember has stopped firing. Ember has stopped chasing.
Usopp peaks out from behind the tree.
His eyes scan the deck—the smoke, the fire, the debris. His voice comes out in a whisper, barely audible even to himself.
"I don't see her anywhere."
He swallows hard.
"But she could be anywhere."
His eyes find Sanji again.
The cook is still sky-walking, still carrying Aurélie in his arms, still moving away from the ship. His expression is dreamy, devoted, lost. He looks like a man who has found his purpose—a man who would follow this woman to the ends of the earth.
Usopp scoffs.
"What is he doing? She's the enemy..."
His voice trails off.
A shiver runs up his spine.
He looks over his shoulder.
Ember stands behind him—hands on her hips, manic grin stretching across her face, mismatched eyes burning with crazy delight. Her space buns wobble. Her tattered dress flutters. And her voice—her voice is singsong, sweet, terrifying.
"Found you!"
Usopp's jaw goes slack.
His brain—his poor, overworked brain—tries to form words. Tries to formulate a plan. Tries to do anything except stare at the madwoman who has somehow appeared behind him without making a sound.
Nothing comes.
Ember shoulders the Helltide. The slingshot rifle rises, its barrel aimed point-blank at Usopp's chest. Her grin widens.
"Josiah says..."
She pauses. Her head tilts. Her eyes gleam.
"Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater."
Usopp swallows hard.
His life flashes before his eyes—not the whole thing, not every moment, but the important parts. His mother. Kaya. The village. The Merry. Luffy. The crew. The family he found on the sea.
He doesn't want to die.
He really doesn't want to die.
But Ember's finger tightens on the trigger. And the world becomes fire.
Orange and black consume everything—heat and light and sound and pain. Usopp feels himself lifted, thrown, consumed. His body slams against something hard. His vision goes white. His ears ring with a sound like a thousand bells.
And then—nothing.
---
The plume of orange and black rises from the tangerine grove, a column of fire and smoke that paints the gray sky in shades of hell. The trees—Nami's precious trees—catch fire, their leaves curling, their branches blackening.
Ember stands at the edge of the destruction, her head tilted, her grin still in place.
"Josiah says that was fun."
She turns. She skips away. And behind her, the fire spreads.
---
On the deck, the battle continues.
Zoro's blades clash against Kalamaru's serpentine heads. Nami wrestles with a jellyfish attached to her weapon. Chopper trades blows with Bepo, tears streaming down both their faces. Sanji sky-walks away with Aurélie in his arms.
And somewhere in the smoke and fire, Usopp lies still.
The world breaks around him.
And no one knows if he'll get up again.