The midday sun baked the plaza in a golden haze, the air thick with the tang of salt and the tantalizing aroma of sizzling street food. Robin strolled at a leisurely pace, a stick of cotton candy in hand, its pink fluff melting in the heat. Beside her, Buggy strutted with puffed-up pride, dragging several bulging bags that clinked and rattled with every step, a cacophony of ambition and cheap metal.
"…and when I'm done perfecting it," he declared, puffing out his chest, "the world will beg for my genius inventions! Future generations will tell tales of the great Buggy! The innovator, and unmatched visionary!"
Robin hummed faintly, more amused than impressed, her dark eyes scanning the curious onlookers they passed.
The distant silhouette of the execution platform loomed ahead, its blackened timbers casting long, ominous shadows across the cobblestones.
Buggy's triumphant rant was cut short when they finally arrived at the execution platform, the very place where his captain, the legendary Gol D. Roger, had met his end. The weight of that history hung heavy in the air.
He stared up at the weathered wood, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. Pride, resentment, regret… they all swirled within him, a tempest of unresolved feelings.
Robin watched him, sensing the shift in his demeanor. The jovial facade had crumbled, revealing a glimpse of the vulnerability beneath.
Buggy's voice was barely a whisper, lost in the midday bustle of the plaza. "This is where it happened," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the platform. "This is where he died."
A wave of memories crashed over him, vivid and painful. He remembered the day Roger had announced his intention to disband the crew, the day their journey had come to an end.
To the day the Oro Jackson pitched gently in a calm sea. Buggy, then a young, hot-headed apprentice, stood before Roger, his face contorted in anger.
"Captain! You can't be serious! We're the Roger Pirates! We're supposed to conquer the Grand Line, find the treasure, become legends!"
Roger chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "We already are legends, Buggy. And the World… well, we've seen it all, haven't we?"
"But… but what about your treasure? What about One Piece?"
Roger's smile faded slightly. "That's for the next generation to find. Our time is over."
Buggy's anger flared. "And what about Shanks? Why are you letting him go off on his own? He's just a kid! He needs us!"
Roger's expression hardened. "Shanks has his own path to follow, Buggy. Just like you do."
Buggy clenched his fists. "I'm staying with you, Captain! I won't let you throw it all away!"
Roger placed a hand on Buggy's shoulder, his grip surprisingly strong. "I appreciate your loyalty, Buggy. But it's time to move on. Find your own dream. Make your own legend."
Buggy's voice cracked with desperation. "Don't go with Shanks, Captain! Please! Stay with us!"
Roger simply smiled sadly and turned away, leaving Buggy alone with his anger and confusion.
Buggy's breath hitched as another memory surfaced, even more painful than the last. The day he found out about Roger's execution. The day when Shanks came back alone.
Buggy stumbled through a crowded port town, his head spinning from cheap sake. He overheard two sailors whispering, their voices hushed with awe and disbelief.
"Did you hear? They caught the Pirate King!"
"Roger? Impossible! He's invincible!"
"They say he turned himself in. They're going to execute him in Loguetown."
Buggy froze, his blood turning to ice. Roger… captured? Executed? It couldn't be true. But deep down, he knew it was.
He raced to find Shanks, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and desperation. He found him sitting alone in a tavern, nursing a drink, his face grim.
"Shanks! It's true, isn't it? They caught the Captain!"
Shanks nodded slowly, his eyes filled with a sorrow that Buggy had never seen before.
"We have to do something!" Buggy cried. "We have to save him!"
Shanks shook his head. "It's too late, Buggy. The execution is set for tomorrow."
Buggy refused to accept it. "We can't just stand by and watch! We're the Roger Pirates! We have to try!"
Together, they commandeered a small ship and set sail for Loguetown, their hearts filled with a desperate hope that they could somehow change the inevitable.
Buggy's hands trembled as he remembered arriving in Loguetown, the day of the execution. The plaza was packed with people, the air thick with anticipation. He and Shanks had tried to fight their way to the platform, but they were hopelessly outnumbered, overwhelmed by the Marines.
He remembered watching helplessly as Roger was led to the execution block, his head held high, a faint smile on his lips. He remembered the executioner raising his sword, the crowd falling silent, and then… the flash of steel, the sickening thud, and the roar of the crowd as the Pirate King met his end.
He and Shanks were powerless to do anything but watch.
Tears streamed down Buggy's face, blurring his vision. He had failed his captain. He had failed to save the man who had given him everything.
Robin watched him, her expression softening with empathy. She understood the pain of loss, the burden of regret.
Buggy's voice was choked with emotion. "I couldn't save him," he sobbed. "I couldn't do anything."
He sank to his knees before the execution platform, his body wracked with sobs. The great Buggy, the self-proclaimed visionary, was reduced to a broken, grieving man, haunted by the ghosts of his past.
He remembered the Roger Pirates disbanded, the crew scattering to the four winds. He watched as his comrades, one by one, left to pursue their own dreams, leaving him feeling increasingly isolated and alone.
He saw how the others members leave him one by one until he and Shanks left. He clung to Shanks, desperate to hold onto the last vestige of his former life.
He remembered approaching Shanks, his voice filled with a desperate plea as Buggy stood before Shanks, his eyes red and swollen from crying. They were alone on a deserted island, the wreckage of their small ship scattered around them.
"Shanks," Buggy said, his voice trembling. "We can still do it. We can still find One Piece. We can become the next Pirate King."
Shanks looked at him sadly, his expression filled with pity. "It's over, Buggy. Roger is gone. There's no point in chasing a dream that died with him."
Buggy's anger flared. "What are you talking about? We can't just give up! We're the Roger Pirates! We're supposed to be the best!"
Shanks sighed. "I'm not interested in becoming the Pirate King, Buggy. I have my own dreams."
Buggy's voice rose in desperation. "What dreams? What could be more important than finding One Piece, rather than honoring the Captain's legacy?"
Shanks simply shook his head. "You wouldn't understand."
Buggy grabbed Shanks by the arm, his grip tight. "We're in this together, Shanks! We have to do this together! Let's look for One Piece with me!"
Shanks gently removed Buggy's hand. "I can't, Buggy. I have to go my own way."
Buggy's anger reached a boiling point. "You're abandoning me! Just like everyone else!"
He lunged at Shanks, his fists flying. "I won't let you leave! We're going to find One Piece, whether you like it or not!"
Shanks, with a heavy heart, was forced to defend himself. He dodged Buggy's clumsy attacks, trying to reason with him.
"Buggy, stop! You're not thinking clearly!"
But Buggy was beyond reason. He fought with a desperate fury, fueled by grief and anger. Shanks, unwilling to seriously harm his former comrade, simply disarmed him and pinned him to the ground.
Shanks stood over Buggy, his expression filled with sadness. "I'm sorry, Buggy. But I can't do this. I have to follow my own path."
He turned and walked away, leaving Buggy broken and battered on the beach.
Buggy remembered lying there, alone and defeated, the waves crashing around him. He had lost everything. His captain, his crew, his dream… even his best friend.
He had changed from a young man full of ambition and promise to the hopeless, bitter pirate kneeling before the execution platform. The weight of his failures had crushed his spirit, leaving him a hollow shell of his former self.
Guts watched him, his expression unreadable, but his eyes held a flicker of something akin to understanding.
He saw in Buggy a reflection of his former self: the same powerlessness he had felt as the demons tore apart the Band of the Hawk, the same despair he had experienced as he watched Griffith's betrayal and the horrors inflicted upon Casca. The weight of those memories pressed down on him, a familiar burden.
Then, he noticed Robin. Her small body, usually so composed, moved with a newfound purpose. With pitter-patter steps, she approached the execution platform, her dark eyes fixed on the weathered wood. He followed her from behind, his instincts on high alert.
As Robin touched the platform, her whisperer ability flared to life. A torrent of images, emotions, and echoes of the past flooded her senses. She gasped, her eyes widening in awe and horror.
She saw it. She saw the day of Roger's execution, the plaza packed with people, the air thick with anticipation. But she saw something more, something that others had missed.
She saw how happy Roger was when he met his end. Not a forced, defiant grin, but a genuine, heartfelt joy. He laughed, a booming, infectious sound that echoed through the ages, and declared to the world the dream he left behind: One Piece. A challenge, a promise, a spark to ignite the hearts of a new generation.
She saw the dream that others, too, needed to pursue, the adventures that awaited them, the bonds that would be forged.
But beneath the surface of that joy, she also sensed a deep, hidden layer of regret. As Roger looked down at Buggy and Shanks from above, she saw a profound sadness in his eyes. A longing for the future they would never share, a hope that they would find their own paths to greatness.
She saw the unspoken words, the unfulfilled promises, the love that he couldn't express. He knew the pain his death would cause them, the burden they would carry. And he wished, more than anything, that he could have spared them that suffering.
Robin recoiled from the platform, her mind reeling from the intensity of the experience. She stumbled backward, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Guts reached out and steadied her, his grip firm and reassuring. "What did you see?" he asked, his voice low and urgent.
Robin looked at him, her eyes filled with tears. "He was happy," she whispered. "But he was also… sad. He loved them. He didn't want to leave them."
She looked at Buggy, who was still kneeling before the platform, oblivious to their presence. A wave of compassion washed over her. She understood his pain now, the depth of his loss.
She knew that Roger's death had not only robbed Buggy of his captain but also of his friend, his mentor, his father figure. And that pain, she realized, was something that he would carry with him for the rest of his life.
Overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions, Robin started to sob, her small frame trembling with the force of her grief. The weight of Roger's final moments, his joy and his regret, was too much for her to bear.
She reached her hand toward Guts, her fingers grasping at his rough cloak. He understood her silent plea. With a gentle motion, he picked up Robin and held her close.
Her small body met with the cold, unyielding surface of his berserker armor. The metal was a stark reminder of the battles he had fought, the darkness he had endured. But beneath the armor, Robin could feel the warmth of Guts's embrace, a silent promise of protection and comfort. It eased her pain, just a little.
He held her tightly, his strong arms enveloping her small frame. He knew what it was like to lose everything, to be haunted by the ghosts of the past. He couldn't take away her pain, but he could offer her his strength, his unwavering support.
He looked down at Buggy, who was still kneeling before the execution platform, lost in his own world of grief. He saw a broken man, a victim of circumstance, a soul trapped in the prison of his own memories.
Guts, Robin, and Buggy. Three people who had lost everything, each in their own way, now united by the shared experience of loss, standing beneath the shadow of the execution platform. The weight of the past hung heavy in the air, a silent testament to the enduring power of grief and the enduring strength of the human spirit.
Then, without warning, a thick mist began to roll in, not like a natural fog, but something unnatural, almost alive. It didn't drift; it writhed, tendrils snaking across the cobblestones like grasping fingers, swallowing the plaza whole.
Guts's senses sharpened instantly. He activated his observation Haki, scanning the swirling mass for any signs of danger. His hand instinctively reached toward the handle of Dragonslayer, the massive sword a familiar weight at his back. The mist tasted of brine and something else… something metallic, like blood.
He could hear Buggy's panicked voice, muffled by the thickening shroud. "What's going on? What is this?!" His fear was palpable, adding to the growing sense of unease.
The air grew heavy, pressing down on them, making it hard to breathe.
Then, he heard it. A murmur from the distance, carried within the mist, as if the fog itself were whispering secrets. At first, it was barely audible, a faint susurrus lost in the swirling mass. But as the mist grew thicker, the murmur grew stronger, coalescing into a distinct voice.
It was a woman's voice, young, almost childlike, yet laced with a chilling undercurrent. It sounded like a teenager, chanting in sinister melody that seemed to vibrate within the very bones. The air grew colder, and the moisture in the mist clung to his skin like a clammy shroud.
The chanting grew louder, more insistent, filling the plaza with its unsettling rhythm. The mist pulsed with a faint, ethereal light, casting grotesque shadows that danced and writhed around them. The stench of decay grew stronger, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.
Guts stood his ground, his muscles tense, his eyes straining to pierce the swirling mass for any sign of the source. He knew that something was coming, something dangerous.
He had faced countless horrors in his life, but this felt different, more insidious, as if the very air was conspiring against them.
He waited, his senses on high alert, until the mist began to dissipate, slowly revealing the plaza once more.
The chanting faded, replaced by an eerie silence that felt heavier than the fog itself.
Then, just as the last tendrils of mist dissolved, he heard it: a scream. A high-pitched, bloodcurdling shriek that echoed through the plaza, cutting through the silence like a knife, leaving a ringing echo that seemed to claw at his sanity.
Guts, his face grim, turned to Buggy. "Buggy, contact your crew on Jumoi immediately. Tell them to be ready to sail at a moment's notice." His voice was low and urgent, brooking no argument.
He then fixed his gaze on the alleyway ahead, the source of the scream. A crowd of people and Marines had begun to gather, their faces a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity. Guts felt a deep unease settling in his gut, a primal warning that something terrible awaited them.
Robin, still cradled in Guts's arm, clutched his coat tighter, her small body trembling. She, too, could sense the horror emanating from the alleyway, the collective fear of the crowd washing over her like a tidal wave.
Buggy, after relaying Guts's orders to Cabaji via Den Den Mushi, dropped his bulging bags without a second thought.
He drew his pistol and an ornate dagger on his waist, his usual clownish demeanor replaced by a focused intensity. He might be a coward at heart, but he wasn't about to abandon his own skin.
Seeing that they were unable to pass through the dense crowd, Buggy raised his pistol and fired a shot into the sky.
BANG
The gunshot echoed through the plaza, momentarily silencing the murmuring crowd.
"Get out of the way!" Buggy yelled, his voice amplified by the sudden silence. "Move aside and let us through!"
The common people, startled by the gunshot and intimidated by Buggy's outburst, began to scatter, creating a narrow path through the crowd. The Marines, however, stood their ground, their hands resting on their swords.
But as they looked at Guts, his towering figure radiating an aura of barely contained rage, and remembered the rumors that followed him – tales of impossible strength and the awful curse– they hesitated. A collective unease washed over them, a sense that confronting this man would be a grave mistake.
With a mixture of fear and grudging respect, the Marines parted, allowing Guts, Robin, and Buggy to pass through. The alleyway beckoned, shrouded in shadow, promising answers… and untold horrors.
As they stepped into the alleyway, the scene that unfolded before them was enough to stop even the most seasoned warrior in their tracks.
Robin, overwhelmed by the sheer horror of it, burrowed her head into Guts's neck, her small hands clamped tightly over her ears.
Buggy, never one for subtlety, simply dropped his daggers with a clatter. His face turned a sickly shade of green, and he stumbled to the side, leaning against the grimy wall for support. The contents of his stomach rebelled, and he began to vomit uncontrollably, the stench adding to the already nauseating atmosphere.
Guts, despite his years of battling demons and monsters, frowned at the sight before him. It was a scene of utter carnage, a testament to unimaginable cruelty.
In front of them, sprawled across the cobblestones, lay the remains of a person. It was difficult to even identify the victim as human, so thoroughly had their body been violated.
The skin had been meticulously removed, leaving behind a grotesque tapestry of muscle and bone. The eyes were gone, leaving empty, hollow sockets that seemed to stare accusingly at the sky. The ears were missing.
And then there were the organs. Scattered haphazardly around the body, they lay glistening in the dim light, a macabre still life of human anatomy. The air hung thick with the metallic tang of blood and the cloying sweetness of decay.
It was a scene that spoke of madness, of a depravity that defied comprehension. And as Guts surveyed the carnage, he knew that whoever had done this was a professional.