The sea was quiet in the way that only vast, empty oceans could be—too quiet.
Gildarts had gotten used to the low sounds of the waves brushing against the patched-together sides of his raft and the occasional groan of shifting rope. The silence now felt suspicious, as if the very ocean were holding its breath.
He knelt at the back edge of the raft, arms tense and eyes sweeping the water's surface. In his gut, something stirred—an old, primal warning. It was a warning he had learned to trust after months of honing his instincts. No birds. No fish. Just an expanse of blue, and the sensation of pressure beneath the surface.
The makeshift bindings securing the Master of the Waters were soaked through and straining, stretched taut against the serpent's submerged bulk. He had spent days reinforcing the knots, layering seaweed-fiber cords and looped strips of leather from long bears over the primary rope. But he could still hear the fibers creaking.
Something had changed.
"Don't you dare," he muttered.
The raft gave a sudden jolt. Not a rocking from a passing wave, but a sharp jag like something massive had tugged against the foundation of the raft. He stumbled, catching himself with a palm flat on the deck. The ropes shrieked. CREEEAKK—!!
Then came the snap.
"Shit."
The rear bindings of the raft exploded apart in a shower of frayed rope and splintered wood. A geyser of seawater erupted behind the raft as the Master of the Waters burst free with a roar so low and guttural that the ocean itself seemed to vibrate with it. The great yellow serpent, body thick as a building's foundation, rose from the sea in a glistening arc of black-spotted scales and fins.
"GRRRRRRUUUUNNNNNNGH!"
ZRRRAKKKK!
A back fin clipped the far edge of the raft, sending a corner of it flying apart in wet fragments. Gildarts threw himself backward, arms up to shield his face from the debris. A gout of seawater splashed across the deck.
The serpent's golden eyes locked onto him with feral intelligence. The sea king lunged, maw splitting wide, lined with row after row of jagged teeth, each one longer than Gildarts's forearm. He could smell the hot, briny stench of its breath as it descended.
He dove to the side—WHAM!—and the serpent's jaws bit down on empty air, taking a chunk out of the raft instead. Wood splinters and supplies scattered in the air. His stockpile of preserved fruit rolled out from under its lashings and tumbled into the sea.
"Damn it!" Gildarts cursed, rolling to his feet with water dripping from his hair and sleeves.
THWOOOM! Another strike—this time the creature whipped its tail across the water's surface. The blow missed the raft by mere feet, throwing up a crashing wall of water that slapped Gildarts sideways. He hit the deck hard.
He couldn't let this continue. The raft would be in pieces if he didn't act now.
He dug his fingers into the soggy planks, teeth clenched. His breathing was ragged, muscles tight with adrenaline. He had only trained in bursts. He hadn't fought with the Devil Fruit's powers in a real battle yet.
But if there was ever a time...
He shot to his feet and flung his right hand forward. Crush energy surged down his arm and into his palm.
VMMMMM!
The air shimmered around his hand. The effect was invisible to the naked eye, but he could feel the tingling in his fingers, the pressure like he was holding raw power barely in check.
"Let's test you, then," he whispered to himself.
The serpent reared up again, water cascading from its coiled body. It lunged.
"CRUSH!!"
SHRRRRAKKKKKOOOOOM!!
Gildarts's palm met the Sea King's snout mid-lunge.
There was a split second of silence. Then the beast's entire front half exploded in a flash of force—crackling energy shattered over its face like glass under a hammer.
The Sea King didn't simply burst apart. It fragmented.
With a fleshy, almost cartoonish POPK! the once-massive leviathan burst into dozens—no, hundreds—of miniature versions of itself. Each no larger than Gildarts's knee. They flailed in the air, squeaking in stunned disarray, before crashing down into the sea like a rainfall of serpents.
"...Hah…"
Gildarts staggered back, blinking at the sudden quiet.
The tiny Masters of the Waters screamed—a high-pitched, warbling cacophony that sounded like wet flutes—and bolted across the ocean's surface. Some scrambled into the sea. Others flapped their undersized fins and launched themselves in all directions, too disoriented to flee in unison.
Gildarts stood in the center of the raft, his right arm trembling and faintly glowing from the energy he'd expelled.
It had worked.
But that brief second of triumph faded fast.
GROOAAAANN—CRACK!
The raft's deck shifted beneath his feet. One of the rear beams had split from the last tail swipe. Another corner sagged, half-submerged. The sail was flapping limply where the mast had been bent askew.
"Perfect. Just perfect."
He knelt and inspected the damage with a sinking feeling. The back right quadrant of the raft had cracked along the beams, leaking water slowly. His stash of precious metals and most of the long fox pelts had been swept away in the chaos. His emergency food stores were now drifting in the current behind him, shrinking into the distance.
The patchwork construction had held together longer than expected, but it was always temporary. He could feel the weakening pulse of the raft beneath him like a living thing on its last legs.
The weight of fatigue began to seep in around the edges of his adrenaline. His arms ached. His ribs throbbed. The energy of the Crush Fruit still tingled along his nerves, but it felt harder to hold now. It wasn't something he could use endlessly. He had no gauge for how much stamina it drained, but already he could tell the backlash would be punishing.
He sat down hard near the fractured edge, rubbing the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. The sun was dipping toward the western horizon, casting the sea in brilliant oranges and deepening blues. Night would be here soon.
Then he saw it.
Far across the ocean, a silhouette broke the horizon. A squat, dark shape with a single mast. It was still distant—barely more than a smudge against the endless blue—but unmistakably artificial.
A ship.
A small pirate ship, judging by the shape of the sails and the faint flag flapping overhead.
He leaned forward, squinting.
It wasn't coming directly toward him. It was sailing obliquely across the water, maybe half a mile away. A blind spot, then. They hadn't seen him yet.
A bead of tension settled in his chest.
He could try to signal them, but that was a gamble. Pirates weren't exactly known for hospitality. He could also stay low, avoid detection, and maybe—maybe—drift closer as night fell. But the idea of getting caught unprepared again, this time by humans, didn't sit well with him.
Still... if the raft continued to fall apart, he wouldn't last much longer. The sea was too vast. Too cruel.
For now, he'd wait. Observe. Prepare.
The wind shifted, pulling the broken sail sideways and sending a ripple through the water around the raft. Gildarts didn't move. He just stared at the retreating pirate ship, the burned energy of the Crush Fruit still lingering in his bones like the aftertaste of fire.
He hadn't mastered it yet.
But now, more than ever, he needed to.
— — —
Update Schedule:
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Sunday: Break Day
Monday: 1 Chapter
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