"How?" Perona demanded, her eye twitching violently.
Ezio, calm as ever, gave a helpless shrug. "No idea."
Her face twisted in frustration. "Then why are you so calm?!"
Ezio sighed like he'd just aged a decade in five minutes. "I've only been dealing with this madness for a month. After a while, you stop asking questions. You either adapt… or scream into the void."
Perona clenched her fists. "We were in the middle of a fight between two Emperors of the Sea! Then we blink, and now—what even is this place?!"
Ezio took a slow look around, like he was only now registering the absurdity of their new surroundings.
Fluffy, cloud-like ground beneath their feet. A horizon painted in soft vapor and sun-touched haze. Endless sky in every direction.
"First of all," he began, maddeningly composed, "don't be surprised if you end up halfway across the world without warning."
Perona stared. "Excuse me?!"
He shook his head, half-regretful, half-amused. "That's on my first crew member. Elusive. And unfortunately, her Devil Fruit is... basically a chaos engine."
Perona narrowed her eyes. "Then why would our crew member dump us here?!"
Ezio exhaled like he was fondly remembering a troublesome child. "She probably saw Kaido and Whitebeard about to break the planet in half and thought we were screwed. So she yanked us out. Problem is, her powers don't come with a GPS."
Perona glanced down. Her boot sank slightly into the soft white fluff. "Ezio," she said slowly, "we're standing on a cloud."
He grinned. "So, we're in the sky. Cool, right?"
Her eye twitched harder. "I FIGURED THAT MUCH, DUMBASS!"
Ezio shrugged. "Could be worse. Last time she warped me out of danger, I woke up inside a sea king's stomach."
Groaning, Perona floated a few feet into the air, her hair flaring like irritated ghost tendrils. "I hate this crew already."
"Too late," Ezio said with a smirk. "You're in. And look—there's a city up ahead!"
Perona squinted. Sure enough, nestled on the clouds was a sprawling city that shimmered like a mirage. She sighed, already being dragged by her annoying new captain. "I should've never come to the Grand Line…"
That's when she saw him stop. Ezio was staring at something nestled on a puffy ridge—a strange fruit glowing faintly under the sky.
"…Ezio?" she asked warily.
He picked it up, inspecting the jagged golden swirls that sparked faintly along its skin.
"THAT'S A DEVIL FRUIT!" Perona screamed in disbelief.
Ezio blinked. "Huh. Second one I've found this month. Kaido really is a lucky bastard."
She gawked at him. "What does Kaido have to do with this?!"
"Everything," Ezio said, smiling like a man with too many secrets. "He's probably getting pounded by Whitebeard right about now. Poor guy."
The fruit was round and tapered like a loquat, with a golden-yellow peel covered in the signature swirl pattern of Devil Fruits—though this one had sharp, lightning-shaped ridges crackling faintly with energy.
Ezio muttered to himself. "Never thought I'd find that fruit. Perona, what year is it?"
She gave him a look like he'd grown a second head. "What rock have you been living under? It's 1515, dumbass."
Ezio's eyes gleamed. "Huh. Seven years before the story starts. So Enel hasn't found this fruit yet. That's… lucky."
"What are you talking about?" Perona asked, just as Ezio dropped to one knee and placed his palm against the cloud-ground. A golden ring shimmered into existence beneath his hand, pulsing outward in all directions.
The ring expanded, widening until it blanketed the entire city ahead of them. It stretched across cloud streets and spires, growing large enough to encircle the whole island.
Ezio's expression darkened. "Two thousand, seven hundred and fifty-three people," he muttered. "That's it? All that space, and barely anyone here. Small populations… like most islands I've seen. All of them nothing compared to Kaido's forces, but—"
He froze.
His eyes widened, sharp and alarmed. "Wait. Who the hell is that?"
"What is it?" Perona asked, but Ezio didn't answer. He grabbed her wrist and sprinted toward the city like a man possessed.
"What did you do just now?" she shouted mid-run. "That golden ring—what was that?! I knew you had some weird power! You ate a Devil Fruit, didn't you?!"
Ezio stayed silent.
Whatever he had seen had shaken him.
They finally skidded to a halt in front of a weathered old house on the outskirts of the cloud island. Ezio pounded on the wooden door with frantic urgency.
It creaked open to reveal a short, round man with an enormous, bushy beard that completely covered his mouth. Two thin, antenna-like tufts of hair stuck out from the top of his bald head.
"Oh! Hello!" the man said brightly. "Not often we get surface folk visiting the sky. I'm Papaya!"
Perona raised an eyebrow. She was more disturbed by his strange politeness than by his appearance. But what really caught her eye were the small feathered wings folded behind his back.
An angel? she thought, grimacing.
They were way too wholesome for her taste—shiny, friendly, radiant. Disgusting.
"Hello, sir," Ezio said, unusually respectful. "We just arrived and… we're not familiar with this place. Would you mind introducing us to your culture?"
"Not at all!" Papaya beamed—probably. No one could actually see his mouth through all that beard. "Come in, come in!"
Perona leaned in and whispered, "What do you want from that overly friendly fluffball?"
"It's not him," Ezio murmured, eyes scanning the room. "It's probably—ah. There she is."
By the window stood a girl, no older than thirteen, strumming a harp with delicate fingers. Her long blonde hair shimmered in the sunlight, and like her father, two strange hair-antennae sprouted from her head. A soft aura seemed to radiate from her as she played.
She looked like a literal angel.
Perona nearly gagged.
Too pure. Too bright. Too... musical.
"This is my daughter, Conis," Papaya said proudly.
Ezio stepped forward, staring at the girl like she was a riddle only he could solve.
"So it's you," he muttered. "You're like… a battery of pure goodness. How are you even real?"
Conis blinked at him. "Huh?"
"Meeting you and that fruit…" Ezio exhaled heavily. "It drained almost every last scrap of good energy I'd absorbed from touching an Emperor." He shook his head. "The rest probably went into finding that Devil Fruit. But I guess… it was worth it."
He turned to face her directly. "My name's Ezio. I'm putting together a crew. A very… unique one. Conis, do you want to join?"
Conis stared at him, harp still in hand. "Alright."
Perona's jaw dropped. "What?!"
Papaya looked just as horrified. "WHAT?!"
"YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW THIS GUY!" they shouted in perfect unison.
Conis tilted her head slightly. "I don't know. It just… felt right."
"IT FELT RIGHT?!" they shouted again.
Meanwhile, Ezio groaned and stumbled back, clutching his stomach. "Oh no… oh shit… I'm completely drained. That little angel's aura sucked me dry. I need to recharge—I have to farm!"
And just like that, he bolted out the door in a panic.
Perona stared after him, deadpan. Then she slowly turned her gaze to the girl now officially in their crew. Her expression darkened.
She didn't like this one bit.
"That's two girls now he's recruited with one stupid question. Something's off. I need to find out what his power really is…"
…
Bob was a regular street thug on Angel Island. Sure, he stole things, and yeah, he occasionally threatened people—but he never really hurt anyone. He had principles. He was a gangster with morals.
There was one exception, though.
Outsiders.
People from the Blue Sea.
They were rare. And the old stories said only monsters, heroes, or complete lunatics ever made it up here from the sea below. Dangerous people, every one of them.
But this guy?
This guy didn't look dangerous at all.
Bob squinted at the stranger, a smug-looking man with messy dark hair and a relaxed stance. He looked... soft. Weak. And Bob could smell weakness like a hound.
"Hey! Asshole!" Bob barked, baring his crooked, black-stained teeth. "Hand over all your valuables!"
"Oh!" the stranger said, eyes wide in surprise. "Of course. I'll give you everything I have."
Before Bob could react, the man reached out and tapped him gently on the hand.
Bob blinked.
Something felt… off.
He staggered back a step, trying to process the strange sensation creeping through his body. It was like something had been taken, but he couldn't figure out what.
"The hell did you just do to me?" he growled, narrowing his eyes.
The stranger didn't answer. He just stood there. Smiling.
That smug grin lit a fire under Bob. Punches, he decided, fixed everything.
"Alright, smartass—time to get wrecked!"
He swung.
And missed.
Well, not quite. He missed the guy's face—and instead slipped on a loose patch of cloud. His balance failed him spectacularly, and with all the force he had intended for his target, Bob slammed his own fist straight into his own face.
WHAM.
"GAH—DAMMIT!"
Dazed and humiliated, Bob stumbled to his feet, blood trickling from his nose. The stranger was still grinning. Still smug.
"You'll regret this," Bob snarled.
QUACK!
He paused. What was—?
He looked up.
A duck?
A duck hovered above him on fluttering wings. It stared down at Bob with hollow, judgmental eyes.
And then, like the universe itself had declared Bob a joke...
SPLOP.
Direct hit.
The duck's poop landed perfectly in Bob's eyes.
"AAAAAAAAAARGH! MY EYES!"
He screamed, stumbling in circles, blinded and betrayed by both gravity and poultry.
It took Bob ten full minutes to scrub the duck poop from his eyes.
Even then, they still burned like hellfire.
Wincing and blinking rapidly, he staggered upright, ready to tear the smug stranger apart.
But what he saw instead... stopped him cold.
Aunt Marge—the creepiest old hag on this side of the island—was running in panicked circles, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her floral-print dress was on fire.
Not smoldering.
Not scorched.
Blazing.
Bob watched in silent awe as she sprinted past him, arms flailing like she was in a horror movie and she was the final girl.
Just down the street, Junior Thomson—Bob's nephew and an unapologetic little demon—was sobbing uncontrollably. The gang of kids he usually bullied had turned the tables on him.
His own tighty-whities were now proudly strapped across his head like a crown of humiliation.
Bob blinked again, eyes widening.
Even more absurd: McKinley—the most corrupt, arrogant bastard on the local police force—was half-buried in a patch of cloud. Only his scowling head stuck out, glaring up at a circle of his fellow officers.
They were pelting him with eggs.
And laughing.
"...Well," Bob muttered, mouth hanging slightly open. "That's actually a very beautiful scene."
But the chaos was only beginning.
From the corner of his eye, Bob spotted a strange girl floating in with the grace of a haunted doll.
She wore a frilly gothic dress and carried a pink parasol like a weapon. Her long, pink hair framed a face that was blushing so hard it looked like steam might burst from her ears.
Bob felt a chill. Something about her was... off.
The girl's voice trembled with excitement. "What an ability… The power to curse an entire city so quickly…"
Her parasol twirled slowly in her hand, her eyes sparkling like she'd just met her idol.
"Maybe I was right to follow you…"
Bob stared, dumbfounded. Follow who?
He didn't have time to wonder.
Suddenly, the gothic girl shrieked, "LET ME HELP YOU!"
And the world exploded into true madness.
Hundreds—no, thousands—of ghostly apparitions burst into existence, floating through buildings, people, and clouds like a plague of invisible doom.
Wherever the ghosts passed, misery followed.
People dropped to their knees, eyes blank and voices groaning.
"I'll never amount to anything..."
"Why even try..."
"My cat hates me..."
The depression was contagious. Even Bob, hardened by years of street crime and moral ambiguity, felt it creeping in.
One ghost phased right through his chest.
Bob froze.
The world dimmed. His shoulders slumped.
"I... I should've listened to the old stories..." he mumbled.
"I should've never messed with Blue Sea people…"
His eyes glazed over, voice hollow.
"I am... unworthy..."
He dropped to his knees, arms hanging limp at his sides as ghosts swirled around him like vultures.
The chaos continued behind him—fire, screaming, underwear crowns, flying eggs.
And in the middle of it all, the strange gothic girl twirled with delight, like a ballerina in a music box built from nightmares.