President Gan Fall sat behind his broad desk, posture steady, though the flicker in his eyes betrayed unease. The Sentinels loomed before him like statues of shadow.
At last, he spoke, his tone cautious. "Lady Andromeda… Lord Arcturus is missing? Did something happen to him?"
There was silence. The masked woman turned her head, the candlelight glinting faintly across the smooth surface of her mask. She did not answer at once.
Gan Fall pressed. "And who is this gentleman, then? Even masked, I can see the difference in his frame. This is not Arcturus."
Andromeda's sigh was faint, yet heavy. She exchanged a glance with her companions, as though weighing what could be revealed. "He is on a mission. But let me introduce this newcomer…" She paused, her voice sharpening with intent. "His name is… Almighty."
General McKinley, standing to the side, barked a dry laugh. "Almighty? That sure is a weird name, pchehe."
The tall figure shifted. Lightning danced across his cloak, sparking with a predator's rhythm. The air thickened as static crawled across every surface—papers on Gan Fall's desk rustled, the brass clock on the wall ticked irregularly, and the faint smell of burning ozone filled the chamber. His voice carried sharp disdain.
"Watch your tongue, little man."
The air cracked. Sparks crawled over the masked stranger's arms, arcs of lightning hissing and snapping like serpents. The ozone stung the nose, and a faint hum built in the chamber, as though the sky itself were funnelling into his veins. Gan Fall felt his own hair rising slightly at the charge.
"Lightning Logia…" McKinley muttered calmly, studying him. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, his stance perfectly balanced. Almighty's sneer curved beneath the mask, lightning coiling tighter around him, each snap of electricity daring the human general to move.
"Do you envy me, human?" Almighty taunted.
"Ohh, fuck yes!" Betelgeuse shouted, leaning forward with manic delight. "They're gonna go at it!"
Andromeda's glare snapped like a whip, silencing him instantly.
Gan Fall's voice cut the tension, firm and measured. "Lord Almighty. Lord Betelgeuse. Please. Not here."
The masked woman's tone was colder still. "I brought you both to learn. Not to bicker like children."
For a heartbeat, only the buzz of electricity filled the chamber.
Then a crackle of static broke into another sound—a sharp transmission on the general's radio.
"General McKinley, Major Principium here. The Vice President has been informed. He is en route to the presidential palace."
McKinley lifted the receiver closer, answering briskly. "Good work." His brow furrowed as he set it down. "The Vice President…" His thoughts ran dark. If the Sentinels were already pressing hard bargains, the arrival of another voice could either temper or worsen the storm.
…
Far away, laughter echoed in a hidden cavern. Rocks D. Xebec sat among ruins of plunder, bandaged and bruised, his grin splitting bloody lips. He drank from a cracked goblet, the wine spilling like blood down his chin. Piles of shattered gold and stolen treasures surrounded him, yet his eyes gleamed with something darker than greed.
"Ochoku's gone, eh?" His voice boomed with mockery. "VOHAHAHAHA! Let him go! I wanna see how far the bastard gets… alone."
The Rocks Pirates had fought Roger and Redfield for four days straight. Four days of roaring seas, fire, and carnage. It still ended in a stalemate, no corpses to claim—only exhaustion. And when none were watching, Ochoku had slipped away into the night.
"VOHAHAHAHAHA!" Rocks' laughter shook the cavern walls. His wounds bled freely, but he ignored them, clutching treasure like a child clutching toys. "WHAT A MORON! The fool thinks he's free. I bet ya die next week mate..."
He turned, snarling at his gathered core. "Ya all found Shakky yet?"
Silence answered. Rocks' smile widened like a wound. "…Good. Then keep lookin'."
…
Elsewhere, the seas around Punk Hazard churned with fire and smoke. Cannons roared as two pirate crews clashed, once comrades under the same flag, now locked in blood feud.
Barbel, scales gleaming under the spray, roared as he vaulted across the gap between ships. "Fishman Karate!" His fist blazed with Armament Haki, cutting the air like a cannonball.
Opposite him, Ochoku laughed, his body already melting into black sludge. "Iron Swamp!" The mud surged upward, engulfing Barbel in a suffocating embrace. "Kehahaha! Silly fish! Without Hachinosu, Rocks weakens with every breath! He'll be the perfect punching bag once I've gathered enough gold!"
Mud constricted, pulling tighter, foul and suffocating. Ochoku's voice rang cruel and sharp. "I'll make you a grave of mud, see how kind I am?! DIE!"
Barbel's teeth ground together, his muscles straining against the mire. The sea boiled with their struggle, thunder cracking above as if the world itself recoiled from their war.
…
Not so far away, the waves around the Flying Dutchman, which wanted to ambush the Rocks Pirates, seethed with tension. Vander Decken VIII's brow furrowed deeply as his sharp eye caught sight of the bow.
There—standing with unshakable calm—was a cloaked figure with a mask. In his grip, a struggling mermaid writhed, her fins slapping helplessly as the chokehold tightened.
"Put Felicia… DOWN!" Vander Decken snarled, his voice low, guttural, echoing across the rotting deck.
The cloaked figure tilted his head, words rasping from beneath his hood. "Arc… wants… to… talk."
Vander Decken's jaw clenched. He would not listen. Each step he took forward carried the weight of storm waves. His men drew back instinctively as his aura thickened.
"I don't negotiate with humans!" he roared, hurling out his arm. Drops of water shimmered in the air, coiling, spinning, condensing into a deadly lance.
"WATER IMPALER!"
He vanished in a blink, reappearing at the figure's flank—then unleashed the attack. The water-spear drilled straight through the hood, splattering like a cannon shot. The force sent the figure's head jerking sideways.
"D-did he… get him?" a trembling Fishman whispered.
But before the tension could even stretch, Athanacya snapped, her voice sharp. "DON'T say that line!"
The crew blinked at her in confusion—then one burly merman grabbed her by the arm, shackles rattling. "Just because you look fancy in the Captain's eyes doesn't mean you can order us, filthy human!" he hissed, his grip rough.
Athanacya's gaze burned, though she didn't resist—yet.
Another Fishman leered from the shadows, his grin splitting wide. "Hey… why don't we enjoy her presence while the Captain's busy not looking?"
A ripple of laughter and blushes broke across the crew. "Hehehehe…"
Ten minutes later—
"AND THAT is my win. Again."
Athanacya's smirk was venomous as she slapped her waterproof cards onto the barrel they had been using as a table. Around her, half the Fishmen groaned, tossing their hands in frustration.
"DAMN IT!!!" one roared.
Another, already stripped down to nothing but his belt, growled. "You cheated, woman!"
"No." Athanacya leaned back with a dangerous smile, her eyes gleaming with mock innocence. "I played smarter. Your fault for betting clothes. Next time, bet something worth my time."
"How could this screwd woman be used by her captain?! She is a gambling menace!!!" they whispered
The deck of the Flying Dutchman echoed with laughter, rage, and humiliation as the pirates quarrelled—some half-naked, some red-faced with fury—while Athanacya calmly reshuffled the cards.
And yet—even as she played the role of mocking victor—her eyes never left Vander Decken and the cloaked figure locked in silent tension at the bow. Water dripped from the figure's mask where the impaler had struck, yet his head straightened slowly, unbroken. A faint shimmer of power pulsed in the shadows beneath his hood…