Far across the New World, under the bruised sky of a brewing storm, a battered pirate ship drifted in an endless ocean. Its sails were torn, its hull scorched from cannon fire. The remnants of the Sanjuan Wolf Pirates clung to what was left, barely afloat.
Donald stood near the helm, panting. His chest rose and fell as he glared at the sea. Salt and sweat dripped from his brow, and his fine duck-feather coat was scorched and ragged.
Vice Admiral Macaron and his hunting fleet had pursued them relentlessly from Firs Island. Sanjuan Wolf—their towering, monstrous captain—had fallen after a titanic battle. And now, Donald was the only officer left.
But the crew whispered. Many wanted to retreat to Paradise.
"To flee there," Donald spat to himself, "would be the greatest shame of all."
"Captain!" someone shouted from above. "Marines on the horizon!"
Donald's glare hardened. "Damn those restless wannabe soldiers! Prepare the cannons!"
A crewman hesitated, then called out nervously, "We... we don't have any cannonballs left, sir!"
Silence. A pitiful silence.
Donald's face twitched. Then, suddenly—
"Use spoons! Knives! Lanterns! Anything with metal! If it's iron—it flies!"
The crew scrambled to obey. Utensils and scrap were loaded into whatever remained of the launchers. Across the sea, the Marine ship began to adjust course, gunports yawning open.
Donald stared. Should he flee again? Could they even survive one more volley?
But the Marine ship stopped.
Confusion rippled across the pirate deck.
"They're not firing..."
Then—a brilliant flash. The Marine ship exploded, torn apart from within, debris spiralling into the sky like confetti. Fire and smoke swallowed it whole.
The pirates stared.
They celebrated.
But Donald didn't.
His hands shook. His Observation Haki screamed.
Something was under the sea. Something immense.
Donald turned sharply to his navigator, a tall, sharp-eyed woman. "Sanjuan Wolf always said you'd make a fine captain. Athanacya... It's yours now." He placed the hat on her head with deliberate urgency.
Athanacya's smirk was sharp, her brown eyes glinting with ambition and danger. The crew's mixed murmurs swirled around her—fear, respect, envy—as she set the hat upon her head. "I accept~" she purred.
Donald gave her no time to revel. "With your permission, Captain, I'll scout ahead." And before she could answer, he was already airborne, fleeing into the skies.
Just a minute later, the ship came to a halt.
"Did we hit a reef?" someone asked.
"We're in the middle of nowhere!" another shouted.
Then came the shriek.
A massive tentacle yanked a crewman clean off the deck. Screams erupted.
"KRAKEN!!!"
The beast's roar thundered from the deep as more tentacles erupted from the waves, whipping through the air like serpents. Pirates slashed and fired in a frenzy, the air filled with the smell of salt, blood, and gunpowder. Athanacya barked orders, her voice cutting like steel.
Another tentacle slammed down, sending a cannon skidding across the deck. A massive suction-cupped appendage wrapped around the railing, dragging the ship toward the churning maw below. Athanacya leapt, blade flashing, severing one tentacle, but three more took its place.
Blades were drawn. Pistols fired. Everything they had was thrown into the writhing chaos. Some stronger fighters managed to slice a few limbs, but more kept coming.
Athanacya's mind raced, eyes scanning the water. "We need a plan... we need to—"
Then a sound cut through the chaos.
A deep, rumbling voice.
"QUIT PLAYING AROUND, KRAKEN."
The water surged. Waves rose like walls.
And then—a ship.
No. A myth.
A vast galleon, wreathed in rotting seaweed and barnacles, rose from beneath the waves like a beast exhaling. Coral clung to its cracked hull. Its sails—faded, torn, but unmistakable—bore a single, cursed name.
Athanacya gasped with wide eyes.
"...Impossible."
Crewmen screamed, few even dropped their weapons.
"No... no no no..."
"IT'S A BAD OMEN!"
Someone collapsed to their knees.
"IT'S... IT'S—!!!"
They all shouted together.
"FLYING DUTCHMANNNNNNNN!!!"
…. ….
Donald soared high above the New World, the wind tearing at his feathers. He risked a glance back—and froze.
The sea below boiled as a massive, barnacle-encrusted ship rose from the depths. The cursed sails unfurled, black and heavy in the storm air. The name burned into them made his blood run cold.
Donald's pupils shrank to pinpoints.
"IIIIIIIIIIKKKKK!!!!!!" His voice cracked like a cannon. "SCREWWWWWWW THISSSSSS SEAAA!"
Wings flapping like mad, he bolted higher into the clouds. "YOU WON'T BE SEEING ME ANYMORE, NEW WORLD!"
…
…
On the shattered deck of the Sanjuan Wolf Pirate remnants, Athanacya's knuckles whitened around her sword hilt. Her mouth opened—
"P-P-PREPAR—"
She never finished.
Dark shapes erupted from the sea—Fishmen, their weapons gleaming wet, blades and tridents aimed at the crew.
The pirates froze. One by one, they all dropped their weapons. The surrender was immediate.
Athanacya's heartbeat thundered. She had faced storms, marines, and sea kings—but this presence in the water made her blood run cold. What god had she offended to call this upon herself?
The Fishmen jeered.
"FILTHY HUMAN SCUM!"
"INFERIOR SPECIES!"
Their laughter cut through the salty air—until a single voice silenced them.
"SHUT YA TRAP AND MAKE WAY."
The Fishmen parted instantly.
From the shadowed deck of the Flying Dutchman, heavy boots thudded against soaked planks. A tall figure approached, each step dripping seawater. His long coat was weighted with barnacles, the smell of the deep clinging to him. A captain's hat shadowed his face, but the sharp gleam of one eye cut through the mist.
He stopped before Athanacya.
"You... are the captain, Señorita?" His voice rolled like the tide, dangerous and unhurried.
"DZAHAHAHA."
Athanacya's breath caught. "Yes, I—NO!... No!... Our captain..... fled just now... I am a navigator!" Her voice was steady, but her pulse was a drumbeat in her ears.
…
….
The Fishmen roared with laughter.
"WHAT A TRAGEDY!"
"CAPTAIN ABANDONED HER!"
"AS EXPECTED FROM HUMANS!"
But the figure's voice boomed, silencing them instantly.
"ENOUGH!"
He stepped closer. Even with her practised composure, Athanacya felt the pressure—like the sea itself was pressing down on her shoulders. His gaze flicked briefly upward, toward the clouds. His Observation Haki locked onto something fleeing above.
"No human leaves my waters without permission."
Water gathered at his fingertips—large drops that swirled faster and faster, until they spun into spiralling lances.
"Water Impaler."
The shot fired with a velocity that split the air—faster than the eye, faster than most Haki could track. Far above, Donald's scream was cut short. His body dropped toward the ocean, vanishing into the spray.
"Excellent shot, Captain!" a Fishman reported, lowering his binoculars.
"One cooked duck coming right up!" laughed one fishman
"Looks like meat's back on the menu, boys!" added another
The figure stepped forward, the full weight of his presence falling upon the trembling pirates.
"I did not introduce myself, did I, human Señorita?"
He removed his hat slowly, his face emerging from the shadows with a predator's grin.
"I am Vander Decken... the Eighth!"
The name rolled like a curse over the deck. Athanacya's breath caught. Around her, the crew whispered, terrified.
And the Flying Dutchman's captain smiled.
"Do you fear... death?"