Chapter 37: Gathering Storm
The waters around God Valley had become a trap.
The Marine fleet formed a defensive ring around the island, their cannons aimed outward, their crews tense. The Celestial Dragons' gilded ships floated within the perimeter, their decks empty—their occupants already ashore, hunting.
On the flagship of the defense line, a Marine commodore scanned the horizon. The sea was calm, too calm. Intelligence had placed the Rocks Pirates somewhere in these waters, but no one had seen them. No one had heard anything.
"They're coming," he muttered.
The explosion tore through the eastern flank before he could finish the thought.
A Marine frigate erupted in flames, its hull split in two. Men screamed. The sea burned.
"Enemy attack! Multiple ships! They came out of nowhere!"
They had not come from nowhere. They had come from beneath the waves, from behind the islands, from every blind spot the Marine cordon had assumed was safe. The Rocks Pirates did not believe in fair fights.
The lead ship was a mountain of wood and iron, its prow carved into a snarling beast. On its deck, silhouettes moved—some tall, some broad, some seeming to flicker in and out of existence. Every one of them was a name that made the World Government sweat.
Rocks D. Xebec stood at the bow, his face half‑shadowed, his eyes fixed on the island. Behind him, his crew fought and bickered, each a legend in their own right, each barely contained by the force of his will.
"Gurararara… quite the party," Whitebeard said, resting Murakumogiri on his shoulder.
"Mamamama! The treasure is mine!" Linlin's voice boomed across the deck.
"Worororo! Save some for the rest of us!" Kaido slammed his club against the rail.
Shiki floated above them, his swords drawn, laughing. "The gods are about to learn they bleed like everyone else."
The Marine line broke. Ships scattered, burned, sank. The Rocks Pirates poured through the gap, heading for the shore.
---
On the island, the hunt continued.
The Celestial Dragons had not stopped their game. Gunshots still rang through the forest. Slaves still fell. But now, there was something new in the air. Distant explosions. Smoke rising from the coast.
Saint Top lowered his glass, irritation flickering across his face. "What is that noise? Someone find out what's disturbing our sport."
A CP agent appeared at his side, his voice low. "The Marines are engaging pirate forces at the perimeter. The situation is…"
"Pirates?" Top's voice rose. "You let pirates interrupt our competition? What are the Marines for? Crush them."
The agent hesitated. "Sir, these are not ordinary pirates. It's the Rocks crew. And… the Roger Pirates have been spotted on the western coast."
For the first time, uncertainty crept into Top's expression. He looked toward the cliffs where the God's Knights had stationed themselves.
Garling Figarland was already moving. He drew his sword, its edge catching the sun. "God's Knights—to the coast. Protect the Celestial Dragons. Kill anyone who reaches the shore."
He did not look at the slaves, the prisoners, the bodies scattered through the forest. They were not his concern.
---
The Oro Jackson had landed on the western shore without resistance.
The fighting there had not yet reached the frenzy of the east. Marines were regrouping, trying to form a line, but they were outnumbered, outmatched. The Roger Pirates moved through them like water through rocks—not to kill, but to pass.
Roger led, his sword drawn, his grin wide. "Kuhahaha! Now this is a party!"
Rayleigh followed at his shoulder, his blade already wet. "Try not to enjoy yourself too much. There's a reason we're here."
"Of course there is. The treasure! The chaos! The chance to see Rocks' face when he realizes he's not the only one who can make an entrance!"
Jabba laughed, his axes swinging. Kyle moved behind them, his naginata in his hands, his face set. The sounds of the hunt still echoed from deeper in the forest. Screams. Gunshots. The laughter of men who thought themselves gods.
He had heard it before. In another life, in another world, the same cruelty dressed in different clothes. The strong devouring the weak for sport. The powerful calling it their right.
His grip tightened.
Roger glanced back. "Kyle. You're quiet."
Kyle met his eyes. "I'm thinking."
"Good. Think about how we're going to find the treasure before Rocks does."
Kyle said nothing. He followed.
---
The Marines were dying.
The commodore in charge of the defense watched his fleet burn. The Rocks Pirates had torn through his line like paper. The Roger Pirates had slipped past his flank. And now, from the island, the Celestial Dragons were screaming for protection he could not give.
His Den Den Mushi buzzed. He grabbed it.
"We need reinforcements! Anyone! The line is breaking!"
The voice on the other end was calm, familiar. "Reinforcements are on the way. Hold."
The commodore almost laughed. Hold. Against this? Against monsters?
Then he saw it.
A warship, its prow carved into a grinning dog, cutting through the chaos. It did not slow. It did not turn. It rammed through the pirate line, sending two ships spinning, their crews thrown into the sea.
On the deck, a man in a white coat stood at the bow, his fists already coated in black.
Garp's voice rolled across the water like thunder. "Where is Roger?!"
His ship crashed ashore, and he leaped before it had stopped moving, his laughter wild, his hunger for battle matched only by the pirates he hunted.
Behind him, a young man in a Marine uniform stumbled ashore, trying to keep up. Monkey D. Dragon looked at the chaos around him—the burning ships, the fleeing soldiers, the smoke rising from the island—and for a moment, he was not a Marine recruit following his father. He was a man seeing for the first time the cost of the world's order.
His father was already gone, chasing a pirate he had chased for years.
Dragon stood alone on the beach, the weight of what was coming pressing down on him.
---
End of Chapter 37