The afternoon sun beat down on Elbaph's training grounds, a wide, hard-packed earth circle ringed by ancient, scarred oak branches. Dust motes danced in the golden light, stirred by the clash of wood and laughter. At the center, Marya Zaleska and Scopper Gaban moved with controlled ferocity. Marya, in practical dark trousers and a t-shirt, her raven hair pulled back tight, flowed like water around Gaban's heavier, more direct attacks. Eternal Eclipse – its runed obsidian blade – was an extension of her arm, parrying, feinting, striking with economical precision. Sweat glistened on her brow, but her expression remained coolly focused, her golden eyes tracking every twitch of Gaban's powerful shoulders.
Gaban, shirtless and grinning, wielded his twin axes. His movements were less finesse, more raw power honed by decades of brawling and shipwright work. He swung in wide, whistling arcs that Marya deftly avoided or deflected with sharp cracks of metal on metal. "Come on, girl!" he bellowed, sweat plastering the spikey hair to his temples. "Show me that fancy footwork Mihawk drills into ya! Or are ye just gonna dance all day?" He punctuated the tease with a sudden, powerful overhead smash aimed to crush rather than tap.
Marya didn't flinch. She pivoted on the ball of her foot, letting the heavy ax whistle past her shoulder so close it ruffled her hair. In the same motion, she snapped her own blade upwards in a vicious counter-thrust aimed precisely at Gaban's exposed ribs. He barely twisted away in time, the edge scraping across his side. A smirk touched Marya's lips. "Dancing seems effective enough against lumber," she retorted, her voice calm but carrying a sharp edge.
Nearby, Colon, Gaban's giant son, pink hair plastered to his forehead with effort, was attempting to mimic Marya's defensive stance against a wobbly, gelatinous opponent. Jelly "Giggles" Squish, his azure form shimmering in the sunlight, bounced enthusiastically on his seaweed belt. "Bloop! Parry this, Colon-friend!" Jelly's mitten-hand morphed into a comically oversized, wobbly mallet and swung. Colon, overbalancing in his attempt at grace, yelped and stumbled backwards, landing hard on his rear in a puff of dust. Jelly dissolved into happy, bouncing giggles. "Oops! Squishy win?"
Seated on a massive, moss-covered boulder at the edge of the clearing, Saul, the giant scholar, peered over the top of a thick, leather-bound tome titled "Comparative Root Dialects of the Ancient West Blue." His bushy eyebrows rose slightly as he watched Gaban narrowly avoid Marya's thrust, a faint smile playing on his lips before he returned to his reading, the rustle of pages a soft counterpoint to the training sounds.
The spar between Marya and Gaban intensified. Gaban pressed harder, his swings becoming a relentless barrage, forcing Marya onto the defensive. He laughed, a booming sound that echoed off the trees. "That's it! Feel the burn! Captain always said the best lessons sting a little!" He feigned a massive swing, then abruptly dropped low, sweeping his leg towards Marya's ankles.
Marya saw it coming. Instead of leaping back, she dropped her own center of gravity impossibly low, almost flowing under the sweeping leg like mist. As Gaban's momentum carried him forward, off-balance, she exploded upwards, her sword lancing towards his unguarded chin. It stopped a hair's breadth from his throat. Gaban froze, chest heaving, a bead of sweat tracing a path down his weathered cheek. He stared at the point of the blade, then burst into genuine, rumbling laughter. "Hah! Like father, like daughter! Sneaky and sharp!"
Marya lowered the sword, a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes, quickly masked by her usual stoicism. "You left the opening," she stated simply, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.
Before Gaban could retort, a figure burst into the clearing from the path leading towards the village.
Astrid burst from the path, gasping like a beached fish. Her grey Volva robes were smudged, braids unraveling. "Saul! Master Gaban! Marya! Come! Now!" Panic frayed her voice.
All movement ceased. Saul's book snapped shut. Gaban's grin vanished as he snatched his shirt. Marya's sheathed Eclipse. "Where?" Gaban's voice was gravel.
"Warrior's Spring!" Astrid choked, already turning. "Hurry!"
They followed, Colon scrambling, Jelly wobbling anxiously ("Scary fast-lady?"), Saul moving with surprising speed. The scent of damp earth and minerals grew stronger as they neared the sacred spring, but beneath it lurked something else—the sickly-sweet tang of decay, sharp as rot.
They pushed through weeping willows into the clearing. The steaming pool lay unnaturally still, its surface dark as obsidian. Around a mossy stone slab, the Volva Sisters stood in a trembling circle: Ylva knelt, her obsidian face etched with grief; Hilda and Sigrun held sputtering whale-fat candles; Valgard chanted a low, mournful dirge. On the slab lay Elder Elda, skin translucent over bone, milky eyes fixed on the canopy. Each shallow, rattling breath seemed an agony.
Astrid stumbled forward, tears cutting tracks through the dust on her cheeks. She pointed a trembling finger at Marya and Gaban. "She asked for you... before the words left her."
Ylva looked up, her cloud-white afro seeming duller. "She held on... for this."
As if summoned, Elda stirred. A tremor ran through her wasted frame. With immense effort, she turned her head, milky eyes seeking Marya. Cracked lips moved soundlessly, then a whisper scraped the air:
"Pr... pray..."
A gasp. Her skeletal hand lifted a fraction.
"... the lady... sleeps..."
The hand fell. The rattling breath ceased. A final sigh escaped her—a dry leaf settling.
Silence. Thick. Suffocating. Broken only by Hilda's stifled sob.
Then, from the shadows, Senior Priestess Frigga jerked upright. Her head snapped back, jaw unhinging. A guttural, alien shriek tore from her throat—a torrent of clicking, hissing syllables that belonged to no human tongue. As she screamed, her eyes liquefied. Warm brown vanished, replaced by void-dark oil that welled over her lids, streaming down her cheeks in viscous black trails. She clawed at her own face, raking bloody furrows, shrieking the dead language.
Young Acolyte Inga recoiled, then began scratching frantically at her arms. "The Maw!" she whimpered, voice rising to a shriek. "It laughs! Can't you hear it? Cold laughter!" Others joined her—whispers becoming terrified cries, clawing at skin and robes. "Laughing... always laughing..."
The sacred air curdled with the stench of copper, rot, and the chilling void-ozone. Marya stood rigid, hand on Eclipse, golden eyes fixed on Frigga's void-black tears and the clawing acolytes. Elda's final whisper – Pray the lady sleeps – echoed in the sudden, terrible silence after Frigga's voice choked off. Above them, the sunlit Elbaph sky felt like a painted lie.
*****
The salty wind whipped across the deck of Kuro's sleek, black-hulled vessel, the Silent Gambit, as it carved through the turbulent waters of the New World towards the fabled giant's island, Elbaph. Bioluminescent algae churned in the wake, casting an eerie green glow on the dark wood. Charlie Leonard Wooley paced a tight circle near the starboard rail, his pith helmet clutched in white-knuckled hands, khaki shirt flapping. He kept shooting nervous glances towards the stern.
"Ahem! Guardian Nakano," he hissed, trying to keep his voice low over the wind and creaking timbers. He leaned towards Aurélie Nakano Takeko, who sat cross-legged on a coil of rope, utterly absorbed in her worn leather notebook. Her silver hair streamed like mercury in the wind, stark against her black tactical hakama. Her pencil moved with agonizing slowness across the page. "I must reiterate my profound… disquiet regarding our current travel companions. Their psychological profiles, based on observable behaviors and inferred motivations, exhibit profound instability! The volatile pyromaniacal tendencies of the one designated 'Ember,' coupled with the detached, almost sociopathic strategic calculus of 'Souta,' and Kuro's own observable duality… Ahem! It presents a significant risk vector to our primary objective and personal safety!" He adjusted his fogged glasses frantically. "Their operational parameters seem fundamentally misaligned with Consortium ethical protocols!"
Aurélie didn't look up. Her steel-grey eyes remained fixed on a single word scrawled on the page, her brow furrowed in concentration. The only sign she'd heard was a slight tightening of her jaw. The cursed black blade, Anathema, lay horizontally across her lap, its obsidian scabbard seeming to drink the dim light.
Charlie's frustration bubbled over. He waved a hand near her notebook. "Guardian! Are you even listening? This alliance is fraught with peril! We are essentially sailing towards the most mythologically perilous island in existence with a band of… of… questionable associates!"
Finally, Aurélie lifted her gaze. It was cool, detached, like polished stone. "I thought," she stated, her voice cutting cleanly through the wind, "you expressed a fervent desire to venture to Elbaph, Scholar Wooley. To catalogue its lost epigraphs. To earn your place in the annals of archaeological taxonomy." She closed the notebook with a soft snap and tucked it securely into her waistband.
Charlie spluttered, his face flushing. "Yes! Of course! But this…" He gestured wildly around the deck, encompassing the Syndicate ship and its dangerous crew. "...this is not what I envisioned! Consortium expeditions involve peer review, risk assessments filed in triplicate, proper archival procedures! Not… not clandestine voyages with shadow brokers and walking arsenals!"
Before Aurélie could respond, a high, excited shriek pierced the air from high above. Ember "The Pyre" leaned precariously far out of the crow's nest, her neon-pink space buns bobbing wildly. She pointed a gloved finger adorned with chipped black polish towards the horizon. "Ship! Ship approaching! And it's got a black flag! Ooooh, pretty!" She clapped her hands with glee, nearly losing her grip. "Josiah! Josiah, look! New playmates!"
Almost simultaneously, Souta "The Ink Shadow" emerged from a hatch leading below decks, his tailored black trench coat swirling around him. Tattoos writhed subtly beneath his shirt sleeves. He moved with silent purpose, joining Aurélie and Charlie at the rail, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. A moment later, Kuro "The Strategist" ascended the steps from the lower deck, adjusting his cracked glasses with a deliberate motion of his gloved palm. His charcoal suit was immaculate beneath the Syndicate trench coat, his expression unreadable.
Aurélie was already moving. She rose fluidly, her hand settling firmly on the shark-skin grip of Anathema's hilt. She stepped past the flustered Charlie, her silver eyes fixed on the growing speck on the horizon. "As I told you, young scholar," she said, her voice devoid of inflection, "one does not simply go to Elbaph. The path is rarely straightforward or… academically sanitized." She didn't turn her head. "I suggest you and Miss Clark find a place to secure yourselves below decks. Now."
Charlie opened his mouth to protest, his academic outrage warring with primal fear. Bianca, who had been nervously fiddling with a dial on her corset-holster multitool belt nearby, grabbed his arm. "Like, c'mon, Sprocket," she said, her usual sarcasm edged with genuine urgency. "Time to, like, not be shish kebab fodder!" She practically dragged the sputtering scholar towards the hatch Souta had emerged from, her grease-stained overalls flapping.
On the deck, the atmosphere shifted palpably. Aurélie stood poised near the rail, a statue of focused readiness. Souta observed the approaching ship with distant curiosity, one hand unconsciously tracing the patterns on his exposed forearm tattoos. Ember scrambled down the rigging with reckless agility, landing lightly on the deck near Kuro, her mismatched eyes (one icy blue, one gold prosthetic) wide with manic excitement. She unslung her forearm-mounted pneumatic launcher, Helltide, and began humming a discordant nursery rhyme under her breath while checking her ammunition pouch.
Kuro stood calmly beside Aurélie, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Report," he called out, his voice crisp and commanding.
A lookout clinging to the mainmast shouted down, "Flag confirmed, sir! Skull with… uh… red hair and a blade through the skull! It's the Victoria Punk! Kid Pirates!"
Kuro let out a low groan, adjusting his glasses again. "Eustass Kid. More of these 'Worst Generation' rookies infesting the New World like cockroaches." He glanced sideways at Aurélie, a flicker of calculation in his eyes. "Predictable aggression, overwhelming firepower, minimal strategic subtlety. Annoying, but manageable." He gave a slight nod, his posture relaxed but ready. "Prepare for evasive maneuvers or hostile engagement. Your call, Guardian Nakano. But be ready to move."
Aurélie didn't answer immediately. Her gaze remained locked on the rapidly approaching ship. It was a monstrous thing of welded scrap metal and cannons, radiating raw, violent energy even at a distance. The Jolly Roger – a grinning skull with a fiery crown, crossed bones under a skull with a blade – snapped defiantly in the wind. A low thrum, like the growl of a colossal beast, began to emanate from the Victoria Punk, accompanied by the distinct screech of stressed metal. Aurélie's grip on Anathema tightened. The hunt for Marya had just intersected with the chaotic ambitions of the New World's most volatile rookies. The path to Elbaph, it seemed, demanded a toll paid in steel.
The growl emanating from the Victoria Punk wasn't just engine noise; it was the sound of reality itself protesting as Eustass Kid raised his colossal metal arm. The air crackled, thick with sparking energy and raw, magnetic fury. Cannons across the Kid Pirates' skeletal leviathan groaned, twisting unnaturally on their mounts, barrels swiveling not through crew effort, but by the invisible hand of Kid's Jiki Jiki no Mi powers. With a deafening roar that shook the Silent Gambit to its keel, a barrage of scrap-metal cannonballs, fused anchors, and even a mangled figurehead screamed across the narrowing gap.
"Brace!" Kuro's command was razor-sharp. The crew scrambled. Souta "The Ink Shadow" remained unnervingly calm near the mainmast, but the stylized wolves and serpents writhing beneath his sleeves betrayed his focus. Ember "The Pyre" let out a gleeful shriek. "Fireworks! BIG ones, Josiah!" She slapped her palm against the deck railing – a three-second contact – before scrambling back. The railing section detonated with a CRUMP just as the first wave of Kid's magnetic barrage hit, showering the incoming projectiles with splinters and throwing their trajectories off. One molten scrap ball slammed into the forecastle, showering sparks.
Aurélie was already moving. Anathema slid from its obsidian sheath with a chilling shink, the blade humming faintly crimson as it sensed the violent intent saturating the air. She didn't flinch as debris rained around her; her steel-grey eyes, sharp and predatory even in her human form, locked onto Kid, who stood grinning atop his ship's highest pile of scrap. "Guardian Nakano," Kuro called, adjusting his glasses with a gloved palm, his own Cat Claws, exceptionally long blades, extending the length of his razor-sharp reach. "The captain is yours. I shall… entertain his first mate." He nodded towards Killer, whose expressionless, riveted mask glinted coldly as he drew his distinctive Punishers.
The sea became a maelstrom of violence. Sharpshooters traded fire with Kid's crew – Heat unleashing torrents of flame from a massive gun, Wire's razor wires singing through the air, Gig and Dive scaling the rigging with animalistic ferocity. Ember, cackling like a demented sprite, ricocheted across the deck using small, timed explosions from her boots. She peppered the Victoria Punk's deck with Sparkler Rounds from Helltide, blinding pirates and igniting minor fires. "Missed me! Missed me!" she taunted, dodging a swing from UK's massive hammer. "Josiah says you swing like a sleepy Sea King!"
Souta, meanwhile, was a whirlwind of calculated chaos. He gestured sharply, and the ink serpent tattooed on his left forearm flowed off his skin, becoming a thick, oily cord that whipped across the deck, entangling Pomp and Dive mid-lunge. "Ahem. Tactical repositioning, gentlemen," Souta muttered, already directing an ink wolf to herd Bubblegum and Reck towards a cluster of Ember's hastily laid Fuse Wires. The wolf dissolved into a splash of ink as House's spiked club smashed through it.
On the upper deck, the main dances unfolded. Kuro met Killer in a blur of motion. Killer's twin Kama blades, the Punishers, were a whirlwind of lethal precision, each strike aimed to dismember. Kuro, however, was a ghost. He flowed around Killer's attacks, his Cat Claws – tipped with seastone – parrying with sharp clangs, each block sending jarring vibrations up Killer's arms. Kuro's "Shakushi (Four-Cat Style)" was a flurry of near-invisible slashes, forcing the masked warrior into constant, defensive repositioning. "Predictable aggression," Kuro murmured, sidestepping a brutal cross-cut that gouged the deck. "But commendable speed."
The real titanic clash was amidships. Kid, bellowing with laughter, yanked a massive anchor chain from his ship with his magnetic power, swinging it like a colossal flail towards Aurélie. "Think yer fancy sword scares me, lady?!" he roared. Aurélie didn't dodge. She met it. Anathema, wreathed in the faint shimmer of her Feminine Haki, struck the chain's central link. There was no deafening clang, but a sickening crackle as the disruptive resonance of her Haki shattered the magnetic field holding the chain together mid-swing. Tons of metal links rained down harmlessly around her, splashing into the churning sea. Kid's grin faltered for a split second. "Haki?! Annoying!"
Aurélie pressed the attack. Her swordsmanship was a lethal ballet – precise, economical, every movement designed to kill. She flowed around Kid's attempts to magnetically grab her blade or armor, Anathema's obsidian length a blur of darkness that seemed to absorb the light around it. She landed shallow cuts on Kid's arms, her Haki disrupting his own burgeoning Armament hardening before it could fully form. Kid responded with brute force, slamming his metal fist into the deck, causing geysers of splintered wood and water to erupt around Aurélie. One glancing blow sent her skidding back, but she rolled with the impact, coming up in a crouch, eyes narrowed.
The Silent Gambit was taking heavy punishment. A well-aimed cannonball from Heat had torn through the portside hull near the waterline. Scrap metal projectiles embedded themselves everywhere. Ember, her dress singed, was now frantically slapping charges onto crew members' discarded weapons and hurling them back at the Victoria Punk. Souta bled from a gash on his temple, his ink constructs faltering as he focused on directing crew to patch leaks.
Kuro, locked in his deadly waltz with Killer, saw it all. He saw the water rising in the Silent Gambit's hold. He saw Kid gathering scrap metal into a colossal, spinning buzzsaw formation above his head. He saw Aurélie, breathing slightly harder, preparing to meet it. A cold calculation flickered behind his cracked lenses. Perfection was impossible here. Survival was paramount.
With a feint that made Killer overextend, Kuro disengaged, leaping backwards towards the ship's wheel. "Souta! Ember! Disengage!" he barked, his voice cutting through the din. "Prepare for withdrawal! Helm! Hard to starboard! Full reverse on the port engine!"
Ember pouted, blowing a strand of pink hair from her face. "But Josiah wants to play longer!" Souta simply nodded, recalling his ink constructs with a flick of his wrist, already moving towards the steam engine room hatch.
Kid saw the maneuver. "Running away?!" he bellowed, hurling the massive scrap buzzsaw. "Not happening!"
Aurélie moved not to block the buzzsaw, but to intercept Kid's control. She lunged, not at Kid, but at a massive piece of deck plating Kid had magnetically anchored himself to for leverage. Anathema, glowing fiercely crimson, struck the metal. Her disruptive Haki surged, not just shattering the magnetic link, but sending a jarring feedback pulse through Kid's power. He stumbled, the buzzsaw wavering.
It was the split-second Kuro needed. The Silent Gambit, groaning like a wounded beast, lurched violently starboard. The maneuver, combined with a sudden, precisely timed detonation from Ember on the portside rail (sacrificing a section of deck), created a massive wave that slapped into the Victoria Punk's prow, throwing Kid off balance and spoiling his attack. The buzzsaw crashed harmlessly into the sea.
"NOW!" Kuro yelled. The crew poured a thick, chemical-smelling smoke screen from vents along the stern. Not just obscuring, but interfering with electromagnetic fields. The Silent Gambit's damaged engines screamed, paddle wheels churning the bioluminescent water white as it surged away, weaving erratically.
On the Victoria Punk, chaos reigned. Kid roared in frustration, clutching his head from the Haki feedback. Water gushed into the hole Ember's final blast had worsened near their own waterline. Killer stood amidst the smoke, his Punishers lowered, the impassive mask somehow conveying cold fury. Heat was already bellowing orders to man the pumps.
Aboard the fleeing Silent Gambit, the air was thick with smoke, the acrid tang of explosives, and the groan of stressed timbers. Water sloshed ankle-deep on the lower decks where Bianca and Charlie emerged, wide-eyed. Bianca immediately started barking orders, "Like, Sprocket! Grab that flex-seal patch! Gearbox! Hand me the hydro-spanner! We gotta, like, jury-rig this leak NOW!" Charlie, pale and trembling, cleared his throat repeatedly, "Ahem! Ahem! Structural integrity is... is profoundly compromised! The keelson near frame seven appears critically stressed! Ahem!"
On deck, Kuro calmly lifted his palm, adjusting his smudged glasses. Souta leaned against the splintered mainmast, catching his breath, his tattoos settling. Ember skipped over to a puddle of seawater, poking it with a boot and frowning. "Boring now. Wet."
Aurélie stood at the stern rail, Anathema resheathed at her hip. She watched the smoke-shrouded silhouette of the Victoria Punk recede, its outline distorted by the haze and the water visibly listing it to port. Her expression was unreadable, but her knuckles were white where they gripped the rail. The path to Elbaph had demanded its toll in steel and blood. Ahead, through the dissipating smoke, the volcanic peaks of a small, uncharted island chain rose from the mist – their only hope for repairs before the wounded Silent Gambit succumbed to the hungry sea. The hunt for Marya continued, but now aboard a crippled ship, amidst dangerous allies, with the echoes of Kid's furious roars still hanging in the salt-tinged air.