Bō-Zak flies over the Sunny.
His gold-flecked eyes scan the deck—the burning wood, the swarming locusts, the crew fighting for their lives. He sees Nami swatting at the air. He sees Sanji kicking at shadows. He sees Franky pounding his fists against the deck.
And he sees Ember.
She's skipping through the chaos—her pink space buns bouncing, her Helltide slingshot resting against her shoulder, her mismatched eyes gleaming with manic delight. She's humming. She's laughing. She's having the time of her life.
Bō-Zak mutters.
"That looks like trouble."
He dives.
His wings fold against his body. His talons extend. His beak opens in a shriek that cuts through the chaos like a blade.
KIKYAAAAN—!!
Ember looks up.
Her gold eye whirs. Her blue eye widens. She sees the massive condor descending toward her—obsidian feathers, molten gold eyes, talons like daggers—and she grins.
She shoulders the Helltide.
"Nice try!"
She fires.
The Sparkler Round streaks toward Bō-Zak—a blinding flash of magnesium and heat. But the condor doesn't flinch. He doesn't dodge. He just... stops.
His wings spread. His body hovers. And the air around him changes.
G-GU-GU-GU—
Gravity slams down.
Ember's legs buckle. Her arms drop. The Helltide slips from her fingers and clatters to the deck. She tries to move—tries to run, tries to fight, tries to do anything—but the weight pressing down on her is immovable.
She can't move.
She can't breathe.
She can only stand there—frozen, helpless, trapped—as Bō-Zak descends.
His talons close around her arms.
He lifts her from the deck—gently, carefully, the way a parent might lift a misbehaving child. Her feet dangle. Her space buns wobble. Her gold eye whirs with confusion.
"No fair!" she pouts. "You cheated!"
Bō-Zak's beak curves into something that might be a smile.
"No more boom boom. Time to go."
Ember pouts harder.
"But it was so much fun..."
---
Sanza stands on the deck of the Dreadnought Thalassa.
His small hands cup around his mouth. His voice carries across the water—high, imperious, desperate.
"JELLY! JELLY, GET OVER HERE!"
Jelly doesn't hear him.
The jellyfish-human hybrid is busy.
He's abandoned the Clima-Tact—it lies forgotten on the Sunny's deck, still crackling with residual electricity. He's moved on to something far more interesting: the locusts.
They swarm around him—thousands of them, their wings buzzing, their bodies gleaming. And Jelly—the perpetually cheerful, eternally distracted Jelly—is bouncing.
His translucent blue body compresses and expands with each jump, his starry eyes fixed on the swarm. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
He's trying to catch them.
"Bloop!"
He chomps down on empty air.
"Bloop bloop!"
He chomps again.
A locust flies past his face—close enough that he can see its compound eyes, its iridescent wings, its tiny legs. His head snaps toward it. His body tenses.
He pounces.
His mouth closes around the locust—and for a moment, he's victorious. He caught one. He actually caught one.
Then the locust buzzes.
Jelly's eyes go wide.
His body shudders.
He spits the locust out—not because it tastes bad, but because it tickles. The bug flies away, joining the swarm, and Jelly watches it go with an expression of pure, uncomplicated wonder.
"Bloop... fizzy..."
Sanza calls again.
"JELLY!"
This time, Jelly hears him.
His head snaps around. His starry eyes find Sanza—standing on the deck of the Thalassa, his small form silhouetted against the gray sky. Jelly blinks. His body wobbles. His hand rises in a wave.
"Bloop!"
A locust flies past.
Jelly's head snaps toward it.
His attention lapses.
Sanza's eye twitches.
"JELLY! OVER HERE!"
Jelly's head snaps back. He blinks again. Then—slowly, inevitably—he begins to gravitate toward Sanza. Not walking. Not swimming. Just... bouncing. His body compresses and expands with each hop, carrying him across the deck, over the railing, toward the Thalassa.
He's like a lost puppy—drawn by the voice, confused by the chaos, desperate for something familiar.
He reaches the railing.
He looks down.
The water churns beneath him—cold and gray and deep. The Thalassa waits across the gap—its deck gleaming, its crew scrambling, its Aetherium Terrace folding into place.
Jelly doesn't hesitate.
He jumps.
His body arcs through the air—not gracefully, not athletically, but with the particular chaotic energy of a creature who has no idea what he's doing. He tumbles. He spins. He flails.
And then—
He lands.
In Sanza's arms.
The small tiger-boy staggers under the weight—Jelly is heavier than he looks, all that gelatin and water adding up—but he holds on. His arms wrap around the translucent blue body. His face presses against the wobbling, glittering surface.
Jelly blinks.
His starry eyes find Sanza's face.
"Bloop... adventure... friend..."
Sanza's eye twitches again.
"You're... you're heavy."
Jelly doesn't seem to hear him.
He just glows—his body emitting a soft, pulsing light that casts dancing shadows across the deck. His grin stretches wider. His arms wrap around Sanza's neck.
"Bestest buddy!"
---
Bō-Zak lands.
His talons touch the deck of the Thalassa with a soft thud. His wings fold against his body. His form shifts—the feathers receding, the beak shrinking, the obsidian mantle fading into the tattered awayo shawl of a disheveled monk.
He keeps a firm grip on Ember's arm.
"Let go, pyro."
Ember pouts.
"But—"
"That's an order."
She pouts harder. Her gold eye whirs. Her blue eye narrows. But she doesn't fight. She just stands there—petite, wiry, annoyed—and watches as Bō-Zak's gaze shifts.
He sees Jelly.
The jellyfish-human hybrid is still wrapped around Sanza—his translucent body pulsing with light, his starry eyes fixed on the small tiger-boy's face, his voice a constant stream of happy bloops and giggles.
Bō-Zak's brow furrows.
"Oh no."
He glances at Ember. Then at Jelly. Then back at Ember.
"Can't leave the mutant jellyfish behind."
Ember tilts her head.
"The what?"
Bō-Zak doesn't answer.
He just sighs—a long, tired sound, the sigh—and starts walking toward Sanza.
"Come on, pyro. We've got one more passenger."
Ember pouts.
"But I don't want—"
"I didn't ask."
She follows.
---
Jelly sees them coming.
His starry eyes widen. His body wobbles. His grin—that impossible, infectious, ridiculous grin—spreads even wider.
"Bloop! More friends!"
He releases Sanza—the small tiger-boy staggers, gasping for breath—and bounces toward Bō-Zak. His arms extend. His body compresses. His voice rises in a happy squeal.
"BESTEST BUDDIES!"
Bō-Zak stops.
His hand rises.
Gravity presses.
Jelly freezes mid-bounce—his body suspended in the air, his arms extended, his starry eyes wide with confusion. He hovers there, a translucent blue balloon caught in an invisible grip.
"Bloop?"
Bō-Zak's voice is flat.
"You're coming with us."
Jelly blinks.
Then he grins.
"Adventure?"
Bō-Zak sighs.
"Sure. Adventure."
Jelly's body glows.
"AYE SIR!"
---
The Aetherium Terrace folds.
The Dreadnought Thalassa hums with power—its systems coming online, its engines preparing for departure. The Pluton mirrors it, its massive form shifting in the water, its resonance drives pulsing with ancient energy.
Bō-Zak stands with Ember and Jelly—the manic bomber pouting, the jellyfish hybrid bouncing with barely contained excitement. Sanza stands nearby, his small form trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline.
On the deck of the Pluton, the Heart Pirates scramble to their stations.
And across the water—the Thousand Sunny burns.
The crew fights on—Nami screaming, Sanji kicking, Franky pounding, Chopper crying. The locusts swarm. The flames spread. The ship groans beneath the assault.
But they're still standing.
They're still fighting.
And somewhere in the distance—lost, captured, taken—Monkey D. Luffy sleeps.