The sea off the coast of Siren's Claw, a Whitebeard-protected island, ran red.
Neo Marine battleships encircled the bay like steel sharks, their cannons belching smoke and seastone nets. Pirates dangled from the rigging of captured vessels, their wrists bound in seastone cuffs. Among them, a young rookie with Whitebeard's tattoo wept openly as Zephyr's gauntlet gripped his throat.
"Your father," Zephyr sneered, lifting the boy off his feet, "should've taught you when to kneel."
The rookie spat blood. "Go… to hell…"
Zephyr's mechanical arm whirred. "Already there." He crushed the boy's collarbone, tossing him into a growing pile of broken bodies. "Hang them from the cliffs. Let the tide wash their shame away."
***
Aboard a stolen Neo Marine sloop, tucked precariously behind a jagged reef that gnawed at the churning waves, Ace paced like a caged panther. Flames, small and angry, danced along his knuckles as he clenched and unclenched his fists.
Gunnar crouched beside him, in coiled stillness, Kirin perched silently on his shoulder. The peacock's feathers, usually a riot of iridescent blues and greens, seemed to absorb the dim light, each one tipped with a faint, ominous crackle. Storm clouds brewed in its glassy, intelligent eyes, mirroring the tempest in its master.
"He's making a mockery of us," Gunnar growled, the words escaping through gritted teeth. "Of Pops. Strutting through our territory like he owns the damn place." As he read the newpaper.
A deep, resonant horn blared, slicing through the salty air. It was a sound that vibrated in their bones, familiar and imposing.
Both men stiffened. Kirin's head snapped up.
The Moby Dick breached the horizon, its colossal silhouette a comforting, yet simultaneously intimidating, presence cutting through the morning mist.
On its foredeck, two figures stood out. Izou, graceful and deadly, had one hand resting lightly on the butt of a flintlock pistol at his hip, his vibrant kimono, fluttering like a war banner in the stiff breeze. Beside him, Fossa was running a whetstone along the massive blade of his broadsword.
Gunnar's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Shit." Not fear, but the weary anticipation of a lecture, or worse, pity.
Ace let out a low whistle. "Well, speak of the devils."
Contact.
The stolen sloop, looking even more pathetic and out of place, scraped against the Moby Dick's hull like a lost dinghy seeking refuge from a storm. Izou peered down from the towering railing, his expression unreadable, though his voice, when it came, was laced with a familiar, honeyed venom.
"Well, well. If it isn't the 'Quake Prince' and his favorite stray matchstick. Playing hide and seek, were we?"
Gunnar vaulted onto the Moby Dick's deck with a lithe movement, Kirin fluttering gracefully to land beside him, its feathers flaring slightly. "Just had a run of bad luck, Bro Izou. Nothing we couldn't handle." His tone was defensive, a low growl rumbling.
Fossa grunted, not even looking up from his sword. "We know all about your 'bad luck,' Gunnar. Word travels fast when one of Pops' sons gets his teeth kicked in by an old Marine."
"Could've fooled me with the welcoming party," Ace muttered, stepping onto the deck after Gunnar. He earned a sharp, appraising glare from Izou that made the hairs on his neck prickle.
Izou, with a flick of his wrist, tossed a crumpled Vivre Card. It landed at Gunnar's feet – the paper twitched weakly, its edges scorched and frayed. "Pops has been… concerned. After your little 'excursion' went sideways, he tasked us with tracking you down and, more importantly, putting a stop to Zephyr. Seems the old bastard's made it his personal crusade to crush anyone flying Whitebeard's flag, especially his 'sons.'"
Gunnar's golden eyes, usually glinting with feral amusement, flashed with a dangerous light. He ignored the Vivre Card. "And you're here for what, exactly? To offer condolences? Or to gloat?"
Izou's smile was razor-thin, a polite veneer over tempered steel. "We thought you might want a chance to redeem yourself, actually. We tracked you with this." He gestured to the card. "Pops figured you'd be… eager for another round. But seeing the state of your… vessel," he glanced dismissively at the sloop, "and considering your recent performance, perhaps it's best you sit this one out. Wouldn't want you to embarrass the family further."
Kirin let out an indignant screech, lightning arcing visibly between its magnificent tail feathers. Gunnar silenced it with a sharp, almost imperceptible gesture, his hand tightening into a fist.
"I. Don't. Fail. Twice." Each word was a chip of ice, his voice dropping to a deadly calm that was far more menacing than any shout.
Fossa finally looked up, his gaze heavy. He stepped forward, his sheer bulk of steps. "This isn't just about your pride, Gunnar, though Kami knows that's a mountain in itself. Zephyr's taken six islands in our territory. Killed over thirty of our brothers and allies. He's gutting us out here. This is about ending him."
Ace, who had been leaning against the mast, arms crossed, pushed himself off. "Funny. I thought you Whitebeard Pirates were all about 'family.' Didn't realize you needed an outsider like me to help clean up your messes when one of your own stumbles."
Izou's hand twitched towards his pistol, the click of the hammer being drawn back unnervingly loud in the sudden quiet. "Careful, brat. You're on this ship because Pops humors your presence and Thatch inexplicably vouches for you. Don't mistake tolerance for acceptance, or a shared enemy for kinship."
"ENOUGH!" Gunnar slammed his fist onto the deck. Ice, sharp and jagged, spiderwebbed out from beneath his boots, cracking the thick planks. The temperature around them plummeted. "Zephyr dies. Today. The next person to question my resolve, can explain their frozen tongue to Pops."
A heavy, charged silence fell, broken only by the creak of the Moby Dick's timbers and the cry of a sea bird. Kirin fanned its tail, a low growl of thunder emanating from its chest.
Izou sighed, the tension slowly ebbing from his shoulders. He holstered his pistol with a deliberate click. "Fine." His voice was tight. "But this time, Gunnar, you listen. We have a plan. A coordinated strike. Your usual 'charge in screaming and hope for the best' strategy works wonders… if you're trying to get yourself killed and take a dozen good men with you. This time, we do it smart. Then you can have your rampage."
---
The Moby Dicksliced through the choppy grey waters. The air grew heavy, not just with the coming storm Kirin seemed to perpetually carry, but with the metallic tang of war. Ahead, through the swirling mist, the dark, volcanic silhouette of Port Obsidian emerged, a jagged wound on the horizon.
As they drew closer, the true scale of Zephyr's occupation became apparent. A formidable fleet of Neo Marine warships, sleek and menacing in their gunmetal grey, lay anchored along the island's shores like a steel barricade. Their cannons, numerous and gleaming, pointed outwards, a silent, deadly welcome.
On the bridge of one of the Neo Marine flagships, a subordinate peered through a spyglass, his voice tight with alarm. "Commander Shuzo, sir! Single vessel approaching! Whitebeard pirates markings! It's… it's the Moby Dick!"
Commander Shuzo, a scarred veteran with eyes like chips of flint, strode to the railing. He raised his own spyglass. "The Moby Dick? Alone? Audacious. Or foolish." His gaze sharpened. "Wait. Identify the figures on deck."
The subordinate stammered, "Sir, it's… Izou of the Sixteenth Division. And Fossa of the Fifteenth. And… by the gods, it's those two again! The fire-user and the one with the… the chaotic powers from the Red Tide incident! Gunnar, they called him!"
Shuzo's lip curled. "The whelps survived? And brought their handlers. Inform Admiral Zephyr immediately. Tell him the 'Cursed blood brat' and his partner 'Fire Fist' have returned, accompanied by two of Whitebeard's more… theatrical commanders. This should prove… diverting."
On the Moby Dick's foredeck, the four figures stood like statues. Gunnar, his long hair, a startling mix of fiery red and stark white, whipped around his face in the wind. He cracked his knuckles, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Ace stood beside him, flames already coiling around his arms, his expression a mixture of anticipation and simmering rage. Izou, ever composed, adjusted the sash of his kimono, while Fossa took a long, deliberate drag from his cigarillo, his eyes narrowed against the sea spray.
"Looks like they're expecting us," Fossa rumbled, nodding towards the island. "Quite the welcoming committee."
"They know we're coming for Zephyr's head," Gunnar snarled, his golden eyes fixed on the distant armada. "Let them watch. Let them tremble."
Suddenly, the air shrieked. A wave of cannonballs, dark spheres of destruction, arced across the sky from the Neo Marine ships.
"Incoming!" Ace yelled, though it was hardly necessary.
Izou sighed, a theatrical sound of exasperation. "So uncivilized. No parley? Straight to explosions? How very… Zephyr." With a fluid grace that belied the imminent danger, he drew his ornate flintlock pistols. Each shot was a pinpoint of light, striking an incoming cannonball with impossible precision, causing it to detonate harmlessly mid-air in a shower of shrapnel and smoke.
Fossa, with a grunt, swung his massive, flame-wreathed katana. The blade, already imbued with Haki, met the remaining projectiles head-on, slicing through iron and gunpowder as if they were overripe fruit, sending fiery debris hissing into the sea. "A bit of a warm-up, eh?" he grunted, a smirk playing on his lips.
As the smoke cleared, several Neo Marine cruisers, faster and more agile than the heavier warships, broke formation, engines churning the water white as they surged towards the Moby Dick. Their intent was clear: intercept and engage, to prevent them from reaching Port Obsidian and Zephyr himself.
"Looks like they're sending out the welcoming party's welcoming party," Ace quipped, flames erupting more fiercely around him.
Izou holstered his pistols, his gaze sharp. "Four command ships. They'll try to bog us down." He turned to Gunnar and Ace. "This is where you two earn your keep again. When their lead ship gets close enough, you make your move. Get to the island. Find Zephyr. We'll handle these distractions and buy you time."
Gunnar's grin was all teeth, feral and eager. "Distractions? Izou, you wound me. I was hoping for a proper brawl."
"You'll get your brawl with Zephyr," Fossa cut in, his katana gleaming. "We've got two dozen of our best here." He gestured to the Whitebeard pirates arrayed behind them, weapons drawn, faces grim and ready. "We'll give these Neo Marine dogs a fight they won't forget."
The lead Neo Marine cruiser, bristling with cannons and heavily armed soldiers, was now bearing down on them. Its captain, a stern-faced woman with a cybernetic eye, barked orders. "Target the Moby Dick's rudder! Cripple them! Do not let those two devils reach Admiral Zephyr!"
"They seem rather insistent," Izou mused, drawing his pistols once more as the first Neo Marine ship came within boarding range. "Almost like they're scared of what you two might do, Gunnar."
"They should be," Gunnar snarled.
With a roar, Fossa and his contingent of Whitebeard pirates met the first wave of Neo Marines attempting to board, the clash of steel echoing across the water. Izou moved like a phantom, felling Neo Marine officers with speed. The deck of the Moby Dick became a swirling maelstrom of fire, ice, Haki-infused steel, and gunpowder.
Amidst the chaos, Gunnar grabbed Ace's arm. "Ready, matchstick?"
Ace's grin mirrored Gunnar's. "Born ready, Quake Prince!"
Using the railing of a Neo Marine ship that had drawn dangerously close as a springboard, Gunnar launched himself across the churning gap, landing with a ground-shaking thud on its deck. Ice erupted outwards from his impact, sending several Neo Marines skidding. Ace followed, a comet of fire, incinerating a volley of rifle fire aimed at Gunnar.
"They won't escape!" the Neo Marine captain on that ship bellowed, drawing her own Seastone-laced saber. "Engage them! Pin them down!"
But Gunnar and Ace were already moving in synergy. Gunnar's fists, one blazing with lava, the other coated in jagged ice, cleared a path, while Ace's firestorms kept the bulk of the soldiers at bay.
"We need to get to the island!" Ace yelled over the din, incinerating a net aimed at Gunnar.
"Working on it!" Gunnar roared, flash-freezing the deck beneath a squad of charging Neo Marines, then shattering the ice – and their footing – with a seismic punch. He spotted the shoreline, tantalizingly close. "NOW!"
With another powerful leap, they cleared the remaining distance, soaring over the waves and landing heavily on the black sand beach of Port Obsidian.
The sight that greeted them made Gunnar's blood run cold, then boil with a fresh wave of fury. Scores of pirates, their clothes tattered, their bodies bruised and chained, were kneeling in miserable lines under the watchful eyes of Neo Marine guards. Many bore the familiar jolly rogers of Whitebeard's allied crews.
Ace's flames intensified, his face a mask of outrage. "Zephyr! You cowardly bastard! Hiding behind fodder and captured men? Come out and face us!"
Gunnar, however, moved with a singular, brutal purpose. He stalked towards the nearest group of chained pirates. A Neo Marine guard, startled by their sudden appearance, raised his rifle. Gunnar didn't even break stride. A flick of his wrist, and the rifle, along with the guard's hands, was encased in a block of solid ice. With a contemptuous backhand, he shattered the ice and sent the guard sprawling.
"Kirin!" Gunnar barked. The peacock, who had landed silently beside him, let out a piercing shriek. Electricity arced from its feathers, shattering the metal chains binding the nearest pirates with contemptuous ease.
"Get up!" Gunnar snarled at the stunned pirates. "Fight! Or die on your knees! Your choice!" He turned his blazing golden eyes towards the fortified structures deeper inland, where Zephyr undoubtedly lurked. The hunt was well and truly on.