Law leaned against the battered hull of the Polar Tang. His spotted hat tilted low over his eyes to shield them from the ash drifting down like gray snow. The Polar Tang groaned behind him, its metal ribs dented and scorched from the beast's wrath. Crewmates scrambled over the deck—Shachi jury-rigging a shattered sonar array with duct tape, Penguin knee-deep in oily water bailing out the bilge, Bepo frantically stuffing seaweed into a leaking seam. The air reeked of burnt wiring and the hint of sulfur rising from Lago de la Serpiente, its blackened waters still simmering with the aftershocks of battle.
Above, Aerion descended on Vuelo Magnifico, the Sky Lord's obsidian armor glinting dully under the ashen sky. His giant bird's talons scraped the lake's shore as he landed, sending Ground Dwellers scattering like beetles. Aerion's gaze swept over the Tang, his lip curling at the sight of Xochi and Tepec directing artisans to haul salvaged gears from the submerged ruins.
"You overstay your welcome, outsider," Aerion intoned, his voice a blade sheathed in ice. "Tlalocan's patience wears thin."
Law didn't bother looking up. He flicked a rusted bolt into the lake, where it vanished with a muted plink. "Trust me, Feathers. I'd rather be sipping rum in the Calm Belt than babysitting a submarine held together by seaweed and spite." He gestured to the Tang's hull, where a jagged gash yawned like a laughing mouth. "But unless your birds can carry 300 tons of metal, we're stuck here. So, got a wrench?"
Aerion's hand twitched toward his sword, the glyphs along its blade—depicting storms and sacrificial rites—flaring faintly. "Your arrogance insults the Current. The god stirs, and your presence fans its rage."
"Funny. Tepec says we're the key to calming it." Law finally met Aerion's gaze, his amber eyes sharp with mockery. "Guess your island's got commitment issues."
Nearby, Ixtli snorted, hastily disguising it as a cough. The Ground Dweller warrior stood guard over a pile of relics—ancient Lunarian gears fused with volcanic glass, their surfaces still smoldering with residual heat from Vulcan's Forge. Xochi knelt beside him, translating glyphs etched into a bronze plate. "According to this," she called, ignoring Aerion's glare, "the Tang's thrusters need celestial brass—alloyed in the volcano's heart. We've got… six hours before high tide sinks her."
"Six hours," Law repeated, grinning lazily at Aerion. "Plenty of time for you to brood atop your bird."
Aerion's mount hissed, its molten-ocher eyes narrowing. "Every moment you linger, the Primordial Current frays. The beast was but a sentry. The Volcanic God's prison weakens—and your sword-wielder's corruption accelerates it." He jerked his chin toward Marya, who sat cross-legged on a crate, sharpening Eternal Eclipse. The blade's crimson runes pulsed in sync with the faint glow of Ixtabay's Gate, and the black veins on her arms writhed like serpents under her skin.
Marya smirked, testing the edge of her sword with a thumb. "Don't flatter yourself, Skyboy. If I wanted to wake your god, I'd've done it before breakfast."
Aerion's composure cracked. "You dare—!"
"Dare what? State facts?" Law interrupted, stepping between them. "Face it…."
The earth screamed first—a deep, guttural groan that shuddered up from the bowels of Mount Tlaloc, rattling the petrified trees and sending avalanches of volcanic ash cascading down the cliffs. The ground beneath Aerion's boots split like overripe fruit, fissures spiderwebbing across Xochitlán Plaza and swallowing whole the ashen mummies of Lunarians frozen in eternal flight. Above, the sky curdled into a bruise-purple haze as the dormant volcano's crown cracked open, spewing plumes of sulfurous smoke that reeked of scorched metal and primordial rot.
Aerion stumbled, his obsidian armor—etched with glyphs of storm containment—suddenly feeling as flimsy as paper. Vuelo Magnifico screeched, its molten-ochre eyes wide with animal terror, talons gouging the trembling earth. The Sky Lord's composure shattered like glass. "No—no, it cannot be—!" His voice, usually a bastion of icy command, cracked like a boy's. The myths carved into his very armor taunted him: here, the volcano's wrath consuming winged figures; there, the Primordial Current boiling over as Tlaloc broke its chains.
Around him, the Sky Riders' flock spiraled into chaos. Birds collided midair, riders clinging to reins as their mounts bucked and wailed. Below, the Ground Dwellers fled toward the lake, their torches guttering in the ash-storm. Tepec's voice rose above the din, chanting a dirge-like plea to the Current, while Xochi dragged a petrified Nenetl from the collapsing Templo del Sol y Luna, its serpentine pillars crumbling into dust.
Law and the Heart Pirates fought to steady the Polar Tang, its hull groaning as the lake's surface seethed. Marya leaned against the conning tower, her void-scarred arms glowing faintly as Eternal Eclipse hummed in tandem with the volcano's pulse.
Aerion's worst nightmares unfolded in the fissures: visions of his ancestors, their wings melted to bone, mouths agape in silent screams as rivers of lava consumed their cities. The Primordial Current—now a visible, writhing ribbon of liquid light beneath the lake—surged toward the volcano, its glow intensifying as if feeding the god's rage. The runes on Ixtabay's Gate blazed crimson, their ancient wards straining to contain what the Sky Riders had sworn to keep dormant.
"Zephyr—!" Aerion choked on the name, realizing too late the rogue's gambit. The chains in the depths had snapped. The leash was broken.
As molten rock began to ooze from the volcano's maw, Aerion did the unthinkable: he fled. Vuelo Magnifico lunged skyward, but a geyser of superheated steam erupted in their path, scalding the bird's wings. They plummeted, Aerion's scream merging with the mountain's roar—a harmony of dread for the god now stretching its fiery limbs after centuries of slumber.
Tlaloc was awake.
And Tlaloc was hungry.
The tremors ceased abruptly, leaving the island in a thick silence that felt like the world was devoid of sound. Jean Bart and Ikkaku burst onto the Polar Tang's deck; their faces streaked with soot and sweat.
"What the hell was that?!" Jean Bart roared, his cannon still smoking from repelling a barrage of falling debris.
Tepec leaned heavily on his fractured staff, his weathered face lit by the hellish glow of Mount Tlaloc's smoldering peak. "The god stirs," he rasped. "Long ago, our ancestors—the Lunarians—sought to harness Tlaloc's fire. They built Teocalli de la Serpiente, a temple where the Primordial Current converges. But the god rebelled, burying them in ash. The Sky Riders… they were born from survivors who swore to keep it chained."
Xochi unrolled a singed scroll, her fingers trembling as she pointed to an illustration of the temple—a ziggurat fused with serpentine pillars, its apex crowned by a molten orb. "The Current flows strongest there. It's the god's prison… and its conduit."
A sharp hiss cut through the air. Everyone turned.
Marya stood rigid at the Tang's prow, Eternal Eclipse gripped in her white-knuckled hand. The void veins on her arms pulsed like live wires, and her eyes—one blazing white with swirling mist, the other pitch-black, devouring light—locked onto the horizon. Before Law could shout, her body dissolved into silvery vapor, streaking across the lake toward the distant temple.
"Where'd she go?!" Jean Bart barked.
"Teocalli de la Serpiente," Xochi whispered, her voice hollow. "The temple… it's calling her."
Ixtli slammed his macuahuitl against the deck, volcanic glass teeth clattering. "The Sky Riders!" He pointed upward, where Aerion's flock circled like vultures, their birds' wings blotting out the ash-choked sky. "They regroup! Ready the spears!" Ground Dweller warriors surged forward, their obsidian blades glinting as they formed a defensive ring around the Tang.
Law's amber eyes burned. "Tepec. Xochi. You're guiding me to that temple. Now."
"Captain, the sub—" Jean Bart began.
"—won't survive another hour if that god fully wakes," Law snapped. "Hold the line. Bepo—with me."
The mink nodded, his fluffy ears flattened against his head. "Y-yes, Captain!"
"Go," Jean Bart growled, hefting his cannon. "We'll keep these featherbrained freaks off your back."
The trek through Tlalocan's ruins was a descent into a fever dream of ash and echoes. The ground, still smoldering from the volcano's wrath, groaned underfoot, its fissures exhaling plumes of sulfurous steam that stung the eyes and clawed at throats. Every step sent tremors through the fractured earth, cracks spiderwebbing outward to reveal rivers of molten rock below—their surfaces glinting like liquid gold, their heat warping the air into spectral mirages. The ruins themselves seemed alive, whispering in the voices of the dead. Spectral echoes of the Lunarians flickered at the edges of vision: translucent figures with wings of smoke, their mouths frozen in silent screams, their hands clawing at the ash-choked sky as if begging for a salvation that never came.
Xochi led the way, her codex—a relic of cracked leather and brittle vellum—glowing faintly in her trembling hands. The pages, inscribed with luminescent ink made from crushed bioluminescent algae and Primordial Current-infused ore, pulsed in rhythm with the land itself. As she traced her finger over a map of the Teocalli de la Serpiente, the glyphs shifted and rearranged, reacting to the ruins' decaying energy. "Left!" she shouted over the din, her voice fraying. "The bridge ahead is unstable—the Lunarians built traps for intruders!"
The group veered, Law's nodachi slashing through a curtain of hanging vines that disintegrated into ash at the touch. Behind them, a section of the path collapsed into the molten river below, sending up a geyser of embers that illuminated the petrified Lunarian statues lining the route. These were no ordinary carvings—they were the actual remains of the ancients, their bodies flash-frozen by the volcano's wrath. Their wings, once grand enough to blot out the sun, were twisted into gnarled spirals of obsidian and bone. Their faces, half-melted and streaked with eternal tears of solidified lava, stared emptily ahead, their agony preserved in grotesque detail. One statue clutched a rusted spear tipped with celestial brass, its weapon aimed eternally at the heavens—a final, futile act of defiance.
Bepo pressed close to Law, his fur bristling. "C-Captain… the statues… they're watching us!"
"Ignore them," Law muttered, though his grip tightened on his nodachi. "Focus on the temple."
Tepec lagged behind, his staff dragging trenches in the ash. He paused to press a hand to a statue's base, murmuring a prayer in the old tongue. "They called this place Xolotl's Pass," he rasped, his voice carrying the weight of eons. "The Lunarians believed the god of twilight would guide their souls through the ash… but he abandoned them."
A tremor rocked the path, and the ground split anew. Law's Room flared—blue light engulfing the group as he teleported them to a crumbling archway just as the earth behind them vanished into the molten abyss.
Xochi's codex flickered, its pages darkening momentarily. "The Current is fraying here," she warned. "The closer we get to the temple, the more the god's wrath seeps into reality. Look—" She pointed to a fissure where the molten rock had turned black, its surface rippling like oil. Tendrils of shadow writhed within it, whispering promises in a language that made their teeth ache.
Above, the shrieks of Sky Riders pierced the haze. Aerion's flock circled like vultures, their birds' wings stirring the ash into cyclones. As a massive shadow passes over, Bepo looks to the sky. "C…"Captain, they're herding us! Trying to corner us against the lava flows!"
Law's eyes narrowed. "Then we don't let them." His Room expanded, slicing through a collapsing pillar to create a makeshift bridge. "Move. Now."
As they scrambled across, the ruins shutter—a low, guttural hum vibrating through the stone. The spectral echoes grew louder, their whispers coalescing into a single word: Tlaloc.
Xochi, trailing the group, paused. Her arm trembled as she pressed a hand to the archway's carvings—a depiction of the Lunarians' final moments, their bodies consumed by fire as the volcano devoured their city. "They tried to control it," she murmured, more to herself than the others.
Ahead, the Teocalli de la Serpiente loomed—a jagged silhouette against the hellish glow of the erupting volcano. Its serpent pillars coiled skyward, their stone scales embedded with shards of celestial brass that refracted the molten light into prismatic blades. At its peak, the Ocēlōtl Orb pulsed like a diseased heart, its rhythm syncing with the tremors beneath their feet.
"Almost there," Xochi whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.
The ruins, it seemed, disagreed.
"The temple's heart holds the Ocēlōtl Orb," Tepec panted, dodging a shower of falling obsidian shards. "A relic that binds Tlaloc to the Current. If Marya's sword interacts with it…"
"She becomes the god's puppet," Law finished grimly.
The sky erupted in a tempest of featherless fury as Aerion's Sky Riders descended, their Cielo's Children shrieking like damned souls unleashed from the volcano's maw. The birds—monstrous hybrids of condor and nightmare—tore through the ash-choked air, their leathery wingspan blotting out what little light seeped through the smog. Their talons, forged from celestial brass and honed to razor edges, gleamed with a sickly bioluminescent sheen, each claw dripping with venom harvested from the island's deadliest serpents. The riders themselves were specters of wrath, their armor crafted from obsidian and volcanic glass, jagged and angular to mimic the features of their avian mounts. Helmets shaped like snarling bird skulls obscured their faces, save for Aerion's—his visor shattered, revealing eyes wild with terror and fanaticism.
Ixtli's warriors reacted with primal precision. Ground Dweller fighters, their bodies painted in ash and Tlaloc's Blood—a sacred, flammable resin—hurled smoldering spears tipped with volcanic shrapnel. The projectiles ignited midair, trailing arcs of emerald fire as they streaked toward the flock. One spear struck a rider's mount, the beast screeching as its wing membranes combusted, spiraling into a molten river below. The smell of burning tissue and charred flesh choked the air.
But Aerion was relentless. His once-pristine obsidian armor, etched with glyphs of storm and sacrifice, now spiderwebbed with cracks from the volcano's tantrums. His cloak, a tapestry of iridescent barbs plucked from Cielo's Children, billowed like a war banner as he urged Vuelo Magnifico into a suicidal dive. The bird's molten-ochre eyes reflected the temple's crumbling apex as Aerion raised his twin macuahuitls, their obsidian teeth glinting with venom.
"Rend stone! Shatter bone! Destroy it all!" he bellowed, his voice raw as lava scraping bedrock.
The suicide charge hit like a meteor. Vuelo Magnifico's talons gouged the temple's serpentine pillars, celestial brass scales shearing off in sparks. Aerion's blades carved into the ancient stone, unleashing a hail of debris. Behind him, riders mirrored his frenzy, their birds slamming into the ziggurat's flanks. One collided with a petrified Lunarian statue, the impact detonating a hidden cache of star-iron explosives left by the ancients. The blast rocked the temple, sending fissures racing up its façade.
Ixtli roared, rallying his warriors. "Shield the Heart Pirates! Protect the path!" Ground Dwellers interlocked their obsidian shields, forming a tortoise-shell barrier as Law's crew scrambled to defend the Polar Tang. Jean Bart's cannon boomed, shredding a diving bird mid-descent, its rider plummeting silently into the abyss.
Above, the Primordial Current writhed in the sky—a visible, serpentine river of liquid light now tainted by inky tendrils of Void. The temple's Ocēlōtl Orb pulsed erratically, its light warping as Aerion's assault destabilized the ancient seals.
Xochi, crouched behind a shattered pillar, screamed to Law over the cacophony. "The Orb's integrity is failing! If Aerion breaches its chamber—"
"He'll unleash more than a god!" Law finished, his Room flickering as he deflected a Sky Rider's venom-dripping lance.
Aerion's madness had become a force of nature. He no longer fought for duty or tradition—this was obliteration. A reckoning. Every strike was a confession: If the Sky Riders could not control Tlalocan's destiny, no one would.
As the temple groaned, its foundations crumbling, the sleeping sea monster's roar echoed from the depths—a basso profundo warning that the god's patience had snapped.
The line between salvation and annihilation had never been thinner.
The Sky Riders dove, their birds' talons raking the ground. Ixtli's warriors hurled smoldering spears, forcing the flock to veer, but Aerion—his armor cracked, his face a mask of manic desperation—led a suicide charge. "Destroy the temple!" he bellowed. "Before the outsider dooms us all!"
Law's Room flared, blue light slicing through the chaos as he teleported past a collapsing archway. Bepo scrambled after him, his claws scrabbling on slick stone. "Captain—the temple's gates!"
The Teocalli de la Serpiente rose from the ashen wastes like the fossilized spine of a forgotten god, its architecture a grotesque marriage of divine ambition and volcanic ruin. The central pyramid, once a pristine ziggurat of polished basalt, now bore the scars of millennia—charred by lava flows, its eastern face sheared away to reveal inner chambers clogged with crystallized magma. Serpent pillars, each thicker than the Polar Tang's hull, coiled skyward in spirals of stone, their surfaces studded with celestial brass scales that shimmered even in the dim light. These scales were no mere decoration; they thrummed with residual energy from the Primordial Current, their metallic surfaces etched with Lunarian glyphs that pulsed faintly, as if whispering secrets to the ash-choked wind.
At the temple's summit, the Ocēlōtl Orb dominated the skyline—a sphere of solidified starlight, its surface a swirling galaxy of blues and golds trapped in glass. It hovered above a fractured altar, suspended by chains of celestial brass that dripped molten rivulets onto the steps below. The Orb's light did not merely shine—it lanced through the atmosphere, threading needle-thin beams of energy into the ash clouds, where Marya's mist-form swirled like a phantom dancer. Her silhouette flickered at the edge of visibility, the Void veins on her arms glowing in eerie tandem with the Orb's rhythm.
Xochi staggered to a halt, her codex slipping from her grip. "By the Current…," she breathed, her voice trembling with reverence and dread. "The Orb—it's a conduit. The Lunarians didn't just worship Tlaloc… they merged it with the stars." She pointed to carvings along the temple's base: winged figures offering flames to a constellation-shaped beast, its maw devouring planets. "They thought celestial power could tame the volcano. Instead, it made the god hungrier."
Law's gaze narrowed, his analytical mind dissecting the structure's weaknesses. Cracks spiderwebbed up the pillars, oozing a viscous black fluid—Void residue—that hissed as it corroded the celestial brass. "That Orb's the only thing keeping Tlaloc's prison intact," he muttered. "And Marya's playing right into its hands."
Bepo pressed close, his fur bristling as static from the Orb's energy made it stand on end. "C-Captain… the air tastes like lightning," he whimpered. "And… and old blood."
He wasn't wrong. The temple exhaled the stench of scorched copper and petrified incense, a cloying reminder of the thousands sacrificed here. Friezes depicted Lunarian priests in feathered regalia, their chests split open to pour molten brass into the Orb's cradle. Others showed the god Tlaloc erupting from the Orb itself, its serpentine body woven from starlight and lava, swallowing cities whole.
Tepec knelt, pressing his palm to a glyph-marred step. "The Current is strongest here," he rasped. "Can you feel it? The corruption… it's seeping through the brass. Tainting the temple's heart."
As if summoned, the ground quaked. A pillar split, its celestial brass scales clattering to the ground like metallic rain. From the cracks, tendrils of Void-mist slithered, converging toward Marya's hovering form. Her laughter echoed—a discordant blend of her voice and something older, hungrier.
"We're out of time," Law growled, his Room already blooming around him. "Bepo—stay close. Xochi, Tepec—move."
But as they ascended the cracked staircase, the temple shifted. Celestial brass gears, hidden for centuries, ground to life. Traps triggered: sections of the floor retracted to reveal pits of smoldering Void-tar, while ancient automatons—Lunarian golems with obsidian skin and brass-forged wings—uncurled from alcoves, their hollow eyes locking onto the intruders.
Above it all, the Ocēlōtl Orb brightened, its light binding Marya tighter. Her mist-form began to solidify, the Void veins spreading like cracks in glass.
The temple was no longer a relic.
It was a living, starving beast.
"MARYA!" Law roared, his voice raw.
She stood before the orb, Eternal Eclipse raised. The blade's crimson runes mirrored the orb's glow, and the void veins on her arms snaked toward her throat. "It's… louder now," she murmured, half to herself. "The Current. The Void. They're the same song."
"Don't—!" Law lunged, but the temple floor split, a geyser of molten Current erupting between them.
The god laughed.
And the world burned.