The oppressive silence of the graveyard was broken only by the soft crunch of their footsteps on the loamy soil.
Ragnar led the way, a figure of absolute stillness moving through the swirling mists, his crew falling into step behind him with the easy confidence of apex predators on the hunt.
Their destination, the monstrous gothic castle, grew ever larger, its jagged spires like accusing fingers scratching at the bruised sky.
The air itself felt thick with malevolent intent, a psychic residue left by decades of necromantic experiments and despair.
It was as they crossed a wide, circular plaza dominated by a dry, cracked fountain that the atmosphere shifted. A low, mournful wailing began to echo from all around them, a sound that seemed to emanate from the very stones.
Then, they appeared, dozens of translucent, white specters with blank, soulless faces, and some of them with comically small crowns.
They drifted through the air, their forms shifting and insubstantial, their mouths open in perpetual, silent screams.
These were the Negative Hollows, the manifestations of Perona's Devil Fruit power.
With a unified, mindless purpose, they surged towards the crew, their primary target immediately clear, the man at the front, the source of the most formidable and unshakable presence.
They sought to phase through him, to fill his soul with crushing negativity and despair, to render him immobile with self-loathing and hopelessness.
They never got the chance.
The moment the first ghost made contact with the space an inch from Ragnar's chest, it was met not with flesh, but with an invisible, immovable wall of pure will.
A pulse of Conqueror's Haki, so subtle it didn't even disturb the dust at his feet, flared out from him in a perfect, controlled sphere. It wasn't a blast meant to knock out armies, it was a scalpel, a negation.
The lead Negative Hollow was directly nonexistent, its form dissolving into motes of fading light with a sound like a sigh of extinguished hope.
Simultaneously, the rest of the crew reacted. Zoro's fierce eyes narrowed, his own fierce, indomitable spirit forming an intangible armor that caused the ghosts to recoil as if burned.
Wyper stood firm, his warrior's pride an unassailable fortress. The women, Nami, Nojiko, Robin, and Isabella, each projected a unique but equally potent resolve: Nami's fierce protectiveness of her found family, Nojiko's quiet, unbreakable strength, Robin's profound will to live and uncover history, and Isabella's serene, angelic power.
The ghosts swarmed them, attempting to latch on, to find a crack in their spiritual defenses, but they found none.
They buzzed around the crew like angry hornets against a pane of armored glass, unable to penetrate, their negative energy utterly useless against souls forged in fire and tempered by loyalty.
…..
High in the tallest spire of the castle, in a room cluttered with cobwebs, dusty toys, and pink, frilly decorations that stood in stark contrast to the grim exterior, Perona gasped.
She was floating cross-legged in her astral form, her giant, pink-rimed bear zombie, Kumashi, clutched in a hug. Her eyes, wide and staring at nothing, were seeing everything her dispatched Hollows were experiencing.
She had felt the first one die upon touching the lead pirate. It wasn't just destroyed; it was erased. The feedback was a psychic shockwave of pure, unadulterated terror.
Then she felt the others, her entire swarm, bouncing uselessly off the spiritual fortresses of the other crew members. There was no despair to feed on, no negativity to amplify.
There was only… nothing. A void. And then, from the man in front, she felt it again, a will so vast, so absolute, so coldly furious that it felt like staring into the heart of a star that burned with ice.
"Uwaaaah!" she shrieked, her astral form flickering violently. The connection to her ghosts snapped all at once.
Her soul didn't drift back to her body, it was 'yanked', slamming into her physical form with enough force to make her stumble backward and land hard on her frilly bed. Her face was pale, her body trembling uncontrollably.
"Pirates!" she whimpered to the empty room, clutching Kumashi tighter. "T-terrifying pirates! The Vortex pirates!"
Scrambling off the bed, her heart hammering against her ribs, she burst out of her room and flew down the winding, torch-lit corridors of the castle. She didn't bother with doors, phasing through them in her panic, her flight erratic and desperate.
She finally reached the grand dining hall, a cavernous room where Gecko Moria held court amidst mountains of food. Without a second thought, she slammed the double doors open with a telekinetic burst.
BANG!
Inside, Moria, a mountain of purple flesh stuffed into a tight captain's coat, was in the middle of shoveling an enormous leg of roasted meat into his mouth.
The sudden, violent noise startled him so badly that he jerked backward, the large piece of meat lodging squarely in his throat. His eyes bulged, his face turning a shade of puce.
He clawed at his throat, making frantic, choked gagging sounds before grabbing a giant stein of water and pouring it down, desperately washing the obstruction down with a series of massive, painful-looking gulps.
"Gah… cough…wheeze… W-what is it, Perona?!" he finally managed to bellow, his voice raspy and irritated, wiping tears from his eyes. "Have you lost your mind?!"
"P-p-p-p-pirates, Moria-sama! Pirates!" Perona yelled, floating into the room, her entire body shaking, her usual haughty demeanor replaced by raw, childlike fear.
Moria leaned back in his oversized chair, the wood groaning in protest. He picked up a hard-boiled egg from a platter, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
"Tch. It's just pirates. My zombies will handle them. Probably some rookies who got lost." He popped the whole egg into his mouth.
"This is not just any pirate!" Perona screamed, her voice reaching a hysterical pitch. "It's Vortex D. Ragnar! The Sea Scourge!"
Gah-cough! Hack! Moria's attempt to swallow the egg reversed instantly. He choked, his massive frame convulsing as he fought for air, his face turning a terrifying shade of blue.
He fumbled for the stein again, gulping down water, the egg finally dislodging and sliding down his throat with an audible gulp. He slammed the stein down on the table, his expression one of sheer, unadulterated panic.
"The Sea Scourge?! What is he doing here?!" Moria roared, half-standing from his chair. The name alone was enough to send a jolt of fear through his bloated body.
This wasn't some upstart rookie pirate, but this was the man who had dismantled Enies Lobby, humiliated the World Government, and whose very existence was a challenge to the current world order.
"I don't know! We just know the signal was triggered at the shore… and then Absalom…" Perona's voice trailed off as the horrifying implication dawned on her.
Absalom, with his invisibility power, would have been the first to investigate any intruders. If the Sea Scourge was here, and Absalom had gone to meet him…
Moria fell silent, the same realization crashing down on him like a physical weight. The color drained from his face.
With a trembling hand, he grabbed a Den Den Mushi from the table, its shell patterned like a bat. He hurriedly dialed Absalom's private line.
"Pururu… Pururu… Pururu… Click."
There was no answer. Only the dead, empty static of a disconnected line.
A cold dread settled in Moria's gut. "He… he must be fine," Moria muttered, a hollow attempt to reassure himself that neither of them believed. "Probably just… busy."
But the terror in Perona's eyes reflected his own. Busy was not a word associated with a confrontation with the Sea Scourge.
Driven by a survival instinct he hadn't felt in decades, Moria shoved the bat Den Den Mushi aside and rummaged through a drawer, pulling out another, far more official-looking one.
This Den Den Mushi was pure white, and emblazoned on its shell was the stark, unmistakable symbol of the World Government.
His fat fingers fumbled as he dialed the emergency line. After a few rings, it connected.
"This is CP5. State your identity and business," a crisp, impersonal voice stated.
Without waiting for formalities, Moria yelled into the receiver, his voice cracking with fear. "This is Gecko Moria, Shichibukai! I demand protection! You have to save me! The Sea Scourge is on my island! He's here! Send an Admiral! Send a fleet! Now!"
On the other end, the CP5 agent's professional composure was shattered. The name 'Sea Scourge' had that effect. "What?! Confirm your location. Thriller Bark? Stand by."
The call was put on hold for what felt like an eternity to Moria, who paced the length of the dining table, sweating profusely.
The request was escalated at a speed reserved for catastrophes, moving up the chain of command until it reached the highest level of power in Marineford, and then, to the sacred chamber of Pangaea Castle.
Saint Jaygarcia Saturn, one of the Five Elder Stars, received the report with a grimace of distaste.
"Moria… that useless glutton." He stroked his beard, weighing the options. Sending an Admiral was a massive, public undertaking.
It would be an admission that a Warlord couldn't handle his own territory, and if Ragnar killed another one… the doubts about the Government's power would grow louder. They needed a solution that was quiet, efficient, and preserved the illusion of control.
"A surgical extraction," Saturn mused aloud to the empty room. "No confrontation. Just retrieve the dammed asset." His decision was made. And then he gave the order.
…
Back on Thriller Bark, Moria's white Den Den Mushi rang. He snatched it up. "Warlord Moria," a new, authoritative voice said. "Assistance has been dispatched. It will extract you from the island discreetly. Be ready for immediate evacuation."
Moria nearly collapsed with relief. "Thank you! Thank you! I'll be ready! What about my subordinates? My zombies?"
"The directive is for your extraction only. Be ready." The line went dead.
Moria, in his overwhelming relief, completely missed the crucial distinction. The agent had said "you." Singular. Not "you all." The thought that he would be saved while leaving Perona, Hogback, and his entire zombie army to face the Sea Scourge alone never even crossed his selfish, terrified mind. He turned to Perona, a shaky, confident smile spreading across his face.
"Hmph. Don't worry, Perona," he said, puffing out his chest. "Help is on the way. The World Government wouldn't abandon a Shichibukai."
Perona, hearing this, let out a massive sigh of relief, her trembling subsiding. She floated down, a weak smile returning to her face. "Oh, thank goodness! I knew they wouldn't let anything happen to us, Moria-sama!"
The two of them sat in the dining hall, waiting for their salvation, completely unaware that the promised rescue was a lifeboat with a seat for only one, and that was for Moria.