New World, a certain island.
An ink-black ceiling of cloud pressed low over sea and forest, smothering air and light alike. Gale-force winds shredded the waves into walls of water, and rain hamred the canopy as if the sky itself were firing bullets. The storm swallowed the island whole.
Deep in the jungle, the Roger Pirates huddled around a campfire in a damp cave. Firewood snapped and popped in the heat.
"This storm... it’s not right," Rayleigh said, leaning against the slick stone with a bottle in hand. He peered into the howling dark, brows drawn tight.
CRACK.
A bolt tore the sky open, its thunder rolling long enough to shake grit from the cave ceiling. Far off, cliffs groaned and fell, the sound echoing until it was part of the weather.
"Hahahaha! That’s just New World weather," Roger sang out, slinging an arm around Rayleigh’s neck. A bottle in one hand, a greasy hunk of roast in the other, face flushed, he raised his drink as if to toast the storm. Even his two "nostril whiskers" curled with his grin.
"We’ve sailed through worse, Rayleigh! And while this keeps that hound Garp off our tail, we might as well relax!"
He bit into the at, juices and cheap whiskey colliding on his tongue until his eyes squinted with pleasure.
"Am I right, lads!?"
"You bet!"
"Party ti!"
"Strike up the music!"
Gaban and the others lifted their cups and roared. Life with Captain Roger was feast or famine—drink while the bottle is full, feast when the fire’s hot, and let tomorrow chase itself.
Rayleigh watched them carouse and kneaded his temples with two fingers. They hadn’t been this shaless when they’d first set sail. When had they learned to laugh with a blade at their backs? He couldn’t rember.
"Fine, fine..." He slipped Roger’s greasy hand with a wry smile. "But Roger—when have you ever been nervous facing Garp?"
Roger’s grin only widened.
Rayleigh rolled his eyes, though a quiet breath left him. The pressure had been suffocating. Once word spread that they’d gathered all four Road Poneglyphs, the Marines tightened the noose. Garp, especially, had been relentless, snapping at the Oro Jackson’s stern like a rabid dog. Without this storm, they’d still be dodging shells.
"Hey! A News Coo actually made it through!"
A one-ard figure blurred through the rain and returned with a newspaper wrapped in oilskin. Kozuki Oden landed lightly in the cave mouth, his kimono dripping.
"Oden’s getting faster," Rayleigh said, smiling despite himself. For sword talent and feel, he’d never seen Oden’s like. Give him a hint and he grasped the heart of it.
"You flatter , Mr. Rayleigh. It’s all thanks to your guidance—and the captain’s." Oden opened the paper with one hand, eyes bright. "If I t that Marine again, I might not win yet, but I could stand and fight."
He grinned. "I want another bout against that ’Indestructible Body’ and see how my swords—hm?"
The smile died on his face.
His eyes widened, pupils pinning as he stared at the fresh print. He took two stumbling steps back, blood draining away.
"What is it?"
"Big news?"
"Hah! Don’t tell the World Governnt—"
"It did?!"
"Impossible!"
"That Marine brat, Rogers Darren... he attacked the Gorosei?!"
"The Flying Fleet... bombed Mary Geoise?!"
The cave filled with ragged gasps. The crew clustered around Oden, mouths falling open as headlines detonated in their skulls. The sacred Holy Land afla. Celestial Dragons burned alive. A sky of iron warships. A lightning-wreathed figure hanging over the carnage like a storm god.
The legendary Marine hero they’d respected and feared had raised his hand against the World Governnt itself—and was now locked in battle with the five supre rulers?
And that invincible Flying Fleet had descended on the Holy Land and leveled half of it?
They’d only been running Garp in circles for a couple of weeks. How had the world twisted this far, this fast?
The Marine with strength that had once pressed the Roger Pirates to the brink had beco a "traitor to the Marines"... and the Governnt’s greatest enemy?!
To be continued...
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