A fog thicker than old regrets clung to the sea as the Heaven's Embrace drifted toward the hulking silhouette of Thriller Bark. The island looked wrong from the first glance: a ship the size of a mountain, decks and masts fused into a labyrinth of timber and iron, and a moon that seemed to hang closer to the horizon than nature allowed. The crew quieted as the ship's shadow swallowed the waters; even Laboon emitted a low, questioning song.
Vegito stood at the rail, arms folded, feeling the island's odd rhythm in his bones. The system pinged, a soft chime that felt almost cheerful against the island's graveyard hush.
System NotificationArea Detected: Thriller Bark — high supernatural energy signature.Recommended Caution: Undead, Shadow Manipulation detected (Moria-class).Reward Potential: High (Unique Companions / Tech Salvage).
He smirked. "Undead and shadows. Cute. I was hoping for something with a soundtrack."
Nami, cloaked in a dark shawl because she liked the aesthetic and because she didn't trust smiles that brightened too quickly, muttered, "We keep it tight. No getting lost." Usopp, who had spent the last week polishing his bravado into armor, tightened his slingshot strap until his knuckles paled.
They made landfall under a sky of bruised purple. The island's decks creaked like the bones of an ancient beast. No birds, only the distant echo of a violin that made the hair on Vegito's arms stand on end.
They found Brook in a courtyard ringed by twisted statues — a gentleman in tailcoat and bones, bowing on invisible knees as his violin sang a melancholy melody. Laboon's roar cut through the music; Brook's head snapped up so fast his jaw rattled. For a moment the skeleton's eyes were two dark hollows, then they gleamed with recognition and a thousand tiny, absurd, joyful explosions.
"L-Laboon?" He stammered, voice tinkling like a fragile bell. Then, with a sob that sounded like old wood splitting, he laughed, a high, brittle sound. He dropped his violin and darted toward the whale, staggering, then collapsing in front of the great animal with an exaggerated flourish. "Laboon! My friend! My very first friend! We meet at last!"
Laboon responded with a joy that shook the deck. The reunion was ridiculous and perfect, and for the first time since he'd opened his lips in that world, Vegito felt the raw, warm pull of something simple and human: reunion as redemption.
Brook's eyes flicked to the newcomers, and the skeleton straightened, politely embarrassed. "Ah—pardon the theatrics. I am Brook, musician, …er, formerly of yesteryear. Pray forgive my manners. May I—"
Before introductions could finish, the air rippled. Shadows detached themselves from the railing like dark fish, coalescing into shambling forms. A gaunt, embroidered figure stepped from the gloom—Moria, lord of shadows, his grin stretched like a slit of moonlight.
"Visitors," Moria purred. "What delicious souls you bring."
Vegito's aura tightened, a controlled pressure that made the candles in nearby windows gutter. "You picked a bad night to throw a party, Moria."
Moria's laugh was the sound of paper tearing. "And you picked a bad island to land on, Saiyan. We'll see whose shadow is longer."
The battle was theater and storm. Moria's shadows wrenched themselves free of corpses, animated ragged puppets that surged like a black tide. But Heaven's Embrace was not a normal ship, and Vegito was not a normal captain. He moved through the fight with the casual brutality of someone who had spent two years training in impossible conditions. Kame-esque arcs lanced out, cutting shadow-stitched soldiers cleanly into mist. Kaulifla's fire danced in precise spirals, Reiju's strikes unstitched shadow limbs, and Chopper darted from fallen to fallen, hands glowing as he stabilized and healed.
Brook moved strangely through the fight—his bones clattering as he danced, his violin sending notes that made shadows shiver and stutter. The melancholy music was a weapon; the right cadence made shadow-stitched foes hesitate, then unmake. With every bow stroke, Brook seemed to claim back a little more life from the island's rot.
At the center of the madness, Moria attempted something monstrous: to steal the crew's very shadows and weave them into stronger servitors. He reached for Vegito's shadow with the arrogance of a man who'd never met an existence that didn't fear being used.
Vegito grinned and let his shadow flare—Haki braided with Saiyan chi, a dark twin that resisted Moria's theft. He closed the distance in a single blur and struck, not to kill; Moria was more nuisance than threat when confronted with raw, practiced elimination. A precise hit sent the shadow lord hurtling into the briny deep of an upturned pool. His silhouette dissolved into a thousand paper cuts of darkness.
When the dust settled, the island's odd hum dimmed. Brook stood amid the wreckage, violin tucked under his arm, the whites of his eye sockets wet with impossible tears.
"Th-thank you," he whispered, as if to Vegito, as if to Laboon, as if to the absurd smallness of the world. "You've freed me… and this old tune finally has a finale."
Vegito half-sagged against a mast and let out an amused exhale. "You play well. Join us. We can use a musician who can wreck undead."
Brook snapped into full, delighted flourish. "It shall be an honor! To play for new friends and my dear Laboon!"
But the night had one more surprise. Perona slipped from the shadows like a comic strip nightmare—pink-haired, umbrella in hand, expression deadpan and cruelly adorable. Her negative-polarity ghosts fluttered around her like a swarm of polka-dotted moths, sucking color and resolve from those who looked upon them.
She tried to laugh Moria's fall into chaos into her advantage. "Heh, looks like the fun's over. I'll be taking the—" and then she met Vegito's gaze, and something unexpected chased across her face: curiosity. He had that effect; the system's charm did not care for villains only.
Vegito tilted his head. "You can either keep being spooky for an island that's falling apart… or go somewhere where your talents are appreciated. There's room on our ship for… theatrical types."
Perona blinked, then snorted. "You're weird. Fine. I'll come. But don't expect me to smile."
She boarded with a dramatic, reluctant flourish; the ghosts sighed in mock disappointment.
Victoria Cindry was not so easily convinced. Her spirit was pride and isolation, an aristocrat of dark fashions. She had been dead long before Moria's horde, trapped as a voiceless sentinel in a corner of the island. Vegito knelt beside her, a small device in his hand—the system's fruit-remover protocol, the "method to remove devil fruit abilities" and to restore those who should have been wrongly stilled. He worked with the surgeon's patience of someone who'd fought doctors and demons. Where the device hummed, shadows gave way like curtains.
Light breathed into Victoria's eyes. She drew in a breath as if waking from the worst of storms, then fixed Vegito with a razor smile. "I owe you a debt," she said coolly. "I will accompany you, if only to keep watch."
She boarded too—reluctant, sharp, and already calculating where she could fit into the ship's new tapestry.
Brook, wobbling between ecstatic sobs and jaunty bows, offered Vegito a solemn, theatrical handshake. "For saving my music and my friend. I am yours."
Vegito accepted, and somewhere in the lofts, the ship's hold unlocked a small, humming crate: an odd salvage from Thriller Bark's mechanical quarters. The hull had contained something the system labeled as Mech Unit — Model: 'Gundam Wing' (Prototype). Vegito grinned like a child with a new toy and hauled the crate onto deck.
When they opened it, the machine gleamed—a compact, transformable suit that looked part-war-construct, part-idol-sensation. He lifted it like a trophy. "Look at this. We'll give the crew a show."
Brook's jaw dropped in the most literal way: bones clattering in surprise. Chopper's antlers tinged pink; he peered at the device like a doctor at a new, excitingly dangerous specimen. "Is that—can we—can I operate it?"
Vegito laughed. "We'll see. For now, it's a trophy. And something to explain at Sabaody."
The last unexpected moment of the night arrived not from the island but from the skies. A small cutter broke from the clouds and descended, cresting onto Thriller Bark's deck in a flurry of sails. A familiar figure leapt down—Ace, flame-born and raw, mud and sunlight on his boots. He locked eyes with Vegito and bowed once, fierce and simple.
"You killed Blackbeard," Ace said, voice rough like gravel and gratitude. "For Whitebeard. Thank you."
Vegito shrugged modestly, though pride warmed him. "Bad men make the seas worse. Someone had to stop him."
Ace dug into his pouch and produced a single, green bean—senzu. "This is for Whitebeard. Give it to him. And then eat with me." His grin was an offer and a challenge.
Vegito caught the senzu, feeling its odd, miraculous weight. He handed it back. "You give it to him. I'll eat one too." Then he plucked a bean from his own satchel and popped it into his mouth, loud and unashamed.
Ace laughed, a sound like a ship's rigging snapping in wind. "Good man. Eat up."
They sat on the deck under a sky that had finally begun to clear, two warriors sharing a simple meal that said more than words could say.
Brook's violin began to hum the melody of the night, soft and warm, a stitch that tied Laboon, the crew, and the island's ghosts into something human. The Heaven's Embrace creaked comfortably—its family had grown stranger and stronger.
System NotificationCrew Members Added: Brook, Perona, Victoria CindryCompanion Added: Laboon (confirmed guardian)Salvage Acquired: Gundam Wing Prototype (Functional: minimal systems)Special Event: Ace encounter — received Senzu Bean gift.Crew Loyalty Update (post-Thriller Bark): Average 62%
Vegito checked the status quietly, tail tapping the deck. The crew slept around him, a mismatch of bones, mothers, doctors, princesses, flames, and thieves. He allowed himself a satisfied grin.
"The world just got louder," he thought. "Perfect."
He didn't know yet how many eyes had watched their little victory from the shadows, or how many whispering lips would carry the news to Sabaody and beyond. But he knew this: the ship sailed on, and with every new member, their story thickened—threads braided into a tapestry stubborn enough to pull kingdoms down, gentle enough to stitch hearts back together.
He closed his eyes for a moment and let the violin's last note fade into the ocean's steady heartbeat. Tomorrow would bring Sabaody, and with it, new storms. For now, there was music, and the smell of the sea, and the comfortable chaos of home.