"Jigoku Tabi…!!!"
Issho's roar echoed like divine judgment across the torn skies.
With a single, deliberate sweep of his blade—still sheathed—the very fabric of gravity screamed. Pulse after pulse of invisible force burst out from beneath his feet in growing concentric rings, like the heartbeat of a dying world. The air rippled and cracked, trees snapped in half, mountains crumbled in the distance, and the skies darkened as if the heavens themselves were being pulled down.
High above them, Kaido—transformed into a colossal molten dragon—lurched in midair as the overwhelming force of gravity slammed into him. His body, now composed of volcanic rock and boiling magma, writhed against the pull, but resistance was futile. The beast's serpentine form, partially melted and steaming, trembled violently as his massive form began plummeting like a meteor onto the broken island below.
"BOOOOOOM…!!"
The entire island shattered upon impact. Chasms erupted from the point of collision, and a tremor roared across the sea as waves rose dozens of meters high. The sky lit with fire. The earth groaned as the molten dragon's body drilled into the soil, carving a smoking crater that hissed from the clash of lava and gravity-forged pressure.
Kaido, who had just begun to gain a clear advantage in his one-on-one fight against Doflamingo, now found himself trapped under the combined onslaught of two devastating forces.
Pinned under the compounding weight of gravity, the molten dragon thrashed against the crater walls, his tail lashing out, sending molten boulders flying across the ruined landscape. His roar shook the very tectonic plates below.
But his battle instincts remained sharp. Kaido's Observation Haki suddenly flared—sensing the lethal intent above him.
Through the smoke and ash, descending from the sky like a wrathful god, was Doflamingo—his body wreathed in black and blue flames. The air around him twisted from the raw pressure of his Haki. In his hands, he conjured a massive, burning sphere of blackened light—like a miniature sun infused with conqueror's will.
"DEATH STAR!!!"
Doflamingo's roar cracked like lightning as he hurled the attack straight onto Kaido's skull. The black sun slammed into the pinned beast with planet-breaking force, striking Kaido's head and detonating upon impact.
KA-THOOOM!!!
The already fractured island collapsed further as Kaido's body was smashed deeper into the earth. Gravity and the Death Star fused in their destruction, pressing down on the Yonko until his body was half-buried within a crater so deep the ocean began to pour in.
A shockwave tore through the horizon. Smoke and debris swallowed the skies.
Doflamingo landed beside Issho, panting heavily, his face slick with sweat and blood. A deep, jagged slash ran across his chest. His flaming armor flickered erratically, struggling to hold shape. Even with his awakened logia flame powers, the toll of battle was evident. His breathing was labored. His fingers twitched.
He hated what he was about to admit.
"I thought I had surpassed him," Doflamingo said bitterly, eyes narrowed behind cracked glasses. "Years of pushing past my limits. Awakened my fruit. Conqueror's Haki. I thought I was ready."
Issho stood silent, sword still poised, his sightless gaze fixated on the gaping crater. But his Observation Haki painted a vivid picture in his mind. Deep within the earth, Kaido's body stirred. The wounds inflicted moments ago had already begun to mend, even the ones laced with conqueror's haki slowly regenerating.
"He's not going down easily, Doffy-kun," Issho said gravely. "We've been fighting for over a day… and he only seems to be getting stronger. Unless Ross-kun appears soon, we may not have the power to end him."
Doflamingo clicked his tongue, frustration building. He glanced down at his trembling hands. His pride was wounded more deeply than his body. In contrast to Kaido's monstrous stamina, Doflamingo felt drained. The intense exchange had pushed his body well past its limits, and it was showing.
Still, he gritted his teeth. He wasn't ready to fall.
Yet somewhere inside, he knew Issho spoke the truth. The battle had reached a stalemate. And the longer it dragged on, the greater the risk that someone else—a predator lurking in the shadows—would capitalize on their exhaustion.
A rumble shook the island. The earth cracked open once more. From the center of the crater, a monstrous hand clawed out.
Kaido rose, now in his awakened hybrid form. His molten scales had hardened into black volcanic armor. Fire dripped from his horns like liquid fury. His eyes burned with primal rage as he locked onto his two foes.
"Worororo…" Kaido's growl shook the mountain ranges. His voice now sounded like cracking magma and thunder. He glanced down at his chest. A deep wound carved by Doflamingo's earlier attack pulsed—but it was healing before their eyes. Even conqueror-infused injuries took effort… but not enough.
Kaido's lips curled into a grin. He was enjoying himself.
But even he understood—this couldn't go on. His forces were stretched thin. Moria, freed by the chaos, had now fully turned his attention to Kaido's crew. His enormous giant zombie, once barely held at bay, was now butchering Beast Pirates by the dozens. Only King and Ryuji had the strength to hold the line.
Kaido turned back to his opponents. He exhaled smoke.
"How about this…" he offered, voice a dark rumble. "We put this battle on hold. Kill each other another time, Doflamingo."
Doflamingo's flames flared. "You cowardly son of a—!"
Issho immediately stepped between them, calm but firm.
"Doffy-kun, don't let pride cloud reason. Even if we fought him for three more days, I don't think we'd come out on top. And have you forgotten…? The Marines could descend on us at any moment. If someone like Garp shows up… even the two of us may not survive."
Doflamingo's fists clenched so hard his knuckles cracked. The flame armor surrounding his body flickered once more… then slowly began to recede. The truth stung worse than any wound. He took a deep breath, letting the fury settle just enough.
"…Tch." He scowled. "This isn't over, Kaido. Don't think for a second I'll forget this."
Kaido let out a low chuckle, the fire in his chest pulsing. "I'll be waiting, Joker."
"But remember this, Joker… sooner or later, you and that little insect of a brother of yours will both perish by my hands," Kaido sneered, his voice thick with contempt and the simmering arrogance of a beast who had defied death itself.
The words were meant to sting—to break Doflamingo further. But instead of rage, a peculiar shift came over Doflamingo. His lips curled into a slow, unsettling grin. The frustration, the fury that had been boiling within him, seemed to quiet for a moment—replaced by something colder. Sharper.
Because he knew something Kaido didn't. If his little brother had been here—if Ross had stepped onto this battlefield alongside them—then this entire island would have been Kaido's grave.
And Kaido… would have known fear.
Doflamingo's chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, his wounds burning, his pride bleeding—but his spirit, oddly, felt lighter. Maybe it was foolish of him to want to kill Kaido with his own hands. Maybe he had underestimated the monster's evolution, or overestimated his own growth.
But that didn't matter anymore.
He cast aside the flickering thoughts of doubt like ash from a dying flame and clenched his fists, hardened resolve anchoring his heart once more.
No. No matter how many years it would take… no matter how much stronger Kaido became…
He would be the one to sever that dragon's head. He would carve his vengeance into Kaido's corpse.
And until that day came, he would rise—again and again—stronger, colder, and more merciless than the world remembered.
****
"There…! There… Shanksss—let's go to that island!" Little Uta shouted excitedly, perched high atop Shanks' shoulders, a spyglass clutched tightly in her tiny hands as she pointed toward the distant horizon.
The breeze tugged at her wild red and silver hair as the Red-Haired Pirates sailed steadily through the calm waters of the East Blue. After rescuing Uta from the clutches of the World Government—a mission so dangerous that none dared speak of the cost—the crew had taken to laying low, avoiding unnecessary skirmishes and keeping their presence quiet.
Uta's abduction by the so-called God's Knights under their very noses had left a scar deeper than any battle wound. Every crewmember knew that their captain had paid a steep, unspoken price to bring her back from Mary Geoise.
Since then, they'd been roaming the East Blue in search of a less renowned yet sparsely populated island to serve as a re-supply base—a quiet sanctuary from which to launch future voyages. But the decision of where to anchor their new base had been left to Uta herself.
One by one, she had rejected more than a dozen islands with odd, whimsical reasons: "Too many birds," "The wind smells funny," "The trees look like they're judging me." Still, no one on the ship dared question her choices.
Now, at last, she'd pointed to an island with a determined twinkle in her eye, and the crew, almost out of options, leaned in to trust her instincts.
"Oye, you little brat," Shanks huffed with mock irritation, "how many times have I told you not to call me by name? I'm your father. You should be calling me 'Dad'!"
Uta didn't even glance at him, her attention still locked onto the island ahead. She waved her arms excitedly at the rest of the crew, as if she were the captain herself commanding a fleet.
"Buggy! You bastard! This is all your fault—teaching her all those weird habits!" Shanks barked, half-exasperated, half-amused, glaring at his crewmate.
Buggy, currently slicing through a rusted metal block infused with haki with his Devil Fruit powers for some random ship maintenance, looked up with a mix of offense and confusion. Since Uta's return, he had—like the rest of them—thrown himself into training and self-improvement. Guilt lingered in his heart. They had failed to protect her once. None of them intended to let it happen again.
But before Buggy could retort, Lucky Roux chimed in, munching casually on a turkey leg.
"Captain! You should watch what you're saying in front of her. She's picking up all the bad habits from you—not us!"
Right on cue, Uta grinned devilishly and shouted again, "Bastard Shanks!"
"Bastard Shanks, full speed ahead!" she called. A beat of stunned silence passed... and then the entire crew burst into roaring laughter.
More laughter. Shanks groaned, burying his face in his hand. "This kid's turning into a proper little pirate already…"
Buggy walked over, casually scooping Uta off Shanks' shoulders and lifting her onto his own with ease. "If she sticks with you any longer, she's gonna end up swearing like a sea demon and drinking grog by twelve," he muttered, though a fond smile tugged at his lips. Uta stuck her tongue out at Shanks and crossed her arms smugly.
Shanks playfully reached forward as if to grab her, "You little gremlin—just wait till I catch you!"
But just then, a more serious voice called out, cutting through the laughter.
"Shanks... you're going to want to see this," said Benn Beckman, standing near the helm with his usual calm demeanor. His gaze was fixed on the weathered navigational chart spread across a crate, his pipe clenched between his teeth.
Shanks sighed and turned away from his would-be chase. "What is it now, Benn?" he muttered as he approached.
Laid out before Beckman was a hand-drawn map of the East Blue, with various instruments strewn about: a log pose, a sextant, several notes scrawled in ink. Beckman pointed to their current coordinates and then to the island Uta had chosen.
"You sure about settling on this island?" Beckman asked, his tone light but carrying an unmistakable edge of warning.
Shanks squinted at the chart. The island was part of a chain known as the Dawn Islands. A relatively quiet region. A small kingdom called Goa ruled one of the islands. It all seemed fine to him.
He gave a shrug. "Seems peaceful enough. What's the problem?"
Beckman exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That's the island where Marine Hero Garp lives. That's his home island, Shanks."
The words hit the deck with the weight of a cannonball. Shanks froze. A moment passed. Then he laughed—loud and carefree, as only a madman or a true pirate could.
"Seriously?! That old war dog lives there?!" He barked with amusement. "Of course she'd pick the one island in the whole damn sea that's next door to danger itself..."
Buggy's jaw dropped. "ARE YOU CRAZY?! You want us to build our base next to that monster's house? He was someone who could stand toe-to-toe with our captain, or have you forgotten…? the Pirate King's rival! I still have nightmares about his damn fists!"
Beckman shrugged. "Don't say I didn't warn you. You want a quiet location; maybe don't set up camp on the Hero of the Marine's doorstep."
But Shanks only grinned, scratching the back of his head. "Well… I guess if little Uta feels it's the right place, maybe there's a reason. And besides—what better way to keep our edge sharp than to live right under the nose of a living legend?"
Beckman muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "idiot."
Meanwhile, Uta raised her tiny fist from Buggy's shoulders and shouted again, "Forward! To our new home! Let's claim it, you lazy pirates!"
The red-haired crew laughed again as the sails adjusted, catching the wind, and the ship slowly began its approach toward the island destined to be their next adventure—and perhaps, unknowingly, the place where fate would intertwine with legends yet to rise...and destinies yet to be fulfilled.
****
Inside Party's Bar, the warm scent of apple pie and freshly brewed tea mingled with the raucous sounds of a bustling morning. The breakfast rush was in full swing, sunlight filtering through the windows in golden streaks as laughter and clinking cutlery filled the expanded space.
What had once been a modest seaside tavern on the edge of the East Blue had, under Agatha's care, grown into a renowned establishment. Her cooking—especially the apple pie—had become so legendary that even nobles from the Goa Kingdom had taken to making quiet pilgrimages here just for a taste. Since Agatha joined the bar, Party's had tripled in size, yet its cozy charm and welcoming spirit remained untouched.
At one of the reserved tables sat the mayor of Foosha Village, his expression unusually grave as he flipped through hand-written reports. The papers trembled slightly in his aging hands. They contained details of the most recent and troubling news: an unprovoked assault by soldiers from the Goa Kingdom on Agatha's home.
His heart clenched at the thought of what might have happened if Dadan and her gang hadn't been present. To the mayor, Agatha was more than just a remarkable chef—she was family to their village. And more importantly, Garp's niece.
If anything had happened to her… He dared not finish the thought.
"Damn those bastards… I will tell Garp-san the moment he returns!" Makino fumed as she wiped down a nearby table with uncharacteristic aggression. The mayor flinched at her tone—Makino, always the gentle voice of reason, now seething with fury was a rare sight. But this? This was personal.
Makino had grown especially close to Agatha over the years, and the thought of someone threatening her elder sister ignited a fire within her that surprised even herself. "Those pampered nobles won't stop until someone teaches them a painful lesson," she hissed. "And when Garp-san calls again, I'm telling him everything."
The mayor raised his hands, trying to calm her. "Makino-chan, please… Dadan already dealt with the attackers. Let's not escalate this further. You know how Garp is—if he finds out what happened…" he trailed off, shuddering. "The Goa Kingdom might not exist the next morning."
Makino's eyes narrowed. "Maybe that's exactly what they need."
At the bar, Sabo sat silently beside Ace, his shoulders hunched, eyes downcast with guilt. His fingers tightened around his cup, untouched. He knew—they all knew—why the Goa soldiers had come. They had been hunting him.
Sabo blamed himself for the chaos that had spilled into Agatha's life. But no one at the table had said a word of blame to him. Not Makino. Not Agatha. Not even Ace.
"Here," Agatha said gently, appearing beside them with their baby brother Luffy cradled effortlessly in one arm, the other hand carrying a heavy wooden tray. She set down a large steaming bowl of spiced meat broth between the boys. "Eat up before it gets cold."
Sabo looked up at her, his guilt mirrored in his eyes, but Agatha just smiled kindly and ruffled his hair. Ace, less burdened by guilt and more driven by appetite, had already grabbed a spoon and was digging in with gusto.
The bar's familiar warmth lingered for only a few moments longer. Suddenly, the doors burst open. A villager, panting and wide-eyed, stumbled inside. "Pirates!" he shouted. "A pirate ship—on the horizon! They're flying a Jolly Roger I don't recognize!"
The cheerful din of the bar vanished like smoke in the wind. Mugs clinked against the wood as hands froze mid-bite. The bandits in the far corner paused, and all eyes turned toward the man at the door. Even the fire in Makino's eyes was replaced by a sudden, cold awareness.
Dadan, halfway through her breakfast, stood up with a snarl. Her presence filled the room like a stormfront rolling in.
"To your posts," she barked to her men. "Run back to the mountain. Sound the alarms. We don't take chances." Her bandits scrambled, bolting out the back door, some already pulling on coats and readying weapons. Dadan turned to the mayor, her eyes hard.
"Get the villagers to safety. Now."
The mayor nodded grimly and rushed out, his old legs surprisingly quick for his age. The people of Foosha Village had learned long ago that while pirates and criminals were not uncommon in the lawless seas, smart ones avoided this place. Most who passed near Dawn Island simply made for the chaos of Gray Terminal, where the Marines turned a blind eye and lawlessness ruled.
But this ship? It was sailing straight toward Foosha Village. That made it a threat. Newcomers. Madmen. Desperate fools who didn't know the balance of power in this corner of the East Blue. There were always some who dared to test their luck.
But unlike other villages, Foosha didn't cower. They fought. They had reason to. They had Garp. And that meant they had something few others did—the courage to stand their ground.
Outside, the winds picked up, carrying the scent of salt and gunpowder. The silhouette of a massive galleon had begun to take shape on the horizon, its sails full, bearing down on the shore with ominous intent. Its unknown flag flapped defiantly in the wind—a new Jolly Roger no one had seen before.