Deep beneath Rain Dinners, hidden far below the sun-scorched sands of Alabasta, there lay a chamber untouched by the desert's heat. Silence ruled here—not by the weight of solitude, but by the presence of fear.
A fear so thick it could be felt pressing against the skin, like humidity before a storm.
A fear that now encircled a single, doomed man.
A suspected Marine spy was caged inside a massive iron enclosure, trapped with a swarm of giant crocodiles. The water sloshed around his knees—murky, bloody, and reeking of decay. The walls were slick, the air heavy with the metallic scent of rust and death.
His body was torn apart—bullet wounds, sword cuts—but the worst came from the blunt-force trauma of the reptiles' tails. Their armored hides could split steel. One of them had already ripped a chunk of flesh from his thigh, leaving behind a gaping, bleeding wound.
His breathing was ragged.
He ran in circles, desperate to stay alive. Every time he reached for the bars—seastone, cold and unforgiving—they reminded him there was no escape.
He knew one thing:
If he stopped moving, they would devour him.
Above him, his eyes caught the slow, inevitable fall of sand in a massive hourglass stationed in the corner of the room. Half left. Just half. Maybe when it ran out, the cage would open.
Or maybe the crocodiles would be unleashed.
On a metal balcony overlooking the pit stood three men, watching his suffering with indifferent eyes.
Three monsters.
One of them was his superior officer.
Vice Admiral Sakazuki.
The Mad Dog of Justice.
Now... a traitor. A lunatic who had burned the body of a prostitute he had slept with.
Sakazuki sat rigid in his seat, his prosthetic hand trembling constantly, fingers twitching like they were trying to remember pain. His left hand tapped against the table—fast, jittery. Not from anger. From fear. His eyes swept the shadows of the room, refusing to settle, as if something in the dark was watching him.
Beside him stood Crocodile, draped in his long, dark fur coat, a cigarette lazily dangling from his lips. His gaze was sharp, but unimpressed. If anything had surprised him tonight, it wasn't the Marine bleeding in the pit—it was the state of Sakazuki himself.
The Vice Admiral looked... broken.
Withered, weak, and old.
And drunk. Even without a drink in hand, the scent of alcohol clung to his skin.
Crocodile exhaled a stream of smoke, voice low and dry.
"What's wrong with you?"
Sakazuki didn't answer right away.
His neck turned slowly—like a man pushing through pain—and a single name escaped his lips.
"Guts."
The name was barely audible. Raspy.
As if saying it burned his throat.
From the far corner of the room, Douglas Bullet grinned.
He didn't speak—only chuckled under his breath, a gravelly sound like boulders grinding in a pit. He could smell fear, and he liked it.
He leaned lazily against a steel beam, arms crossed, his shoulder pressing into the metal until it groaned under the weight—like even the infrastructure of Rain Dinners wasn't built to hold him.
"Heh... if this is what justice looks like now... maybe hell does exist."
His body was covered in fresh wounds—cuts, bruises, deep gashes that hadn't healed. Some still oozed blood. It was like he'd come from battle the night before—and maybe he had.
But the wounds didn't slow him. If anything, they made him stronger. His presence filled the room, not just because of his massive build, but the raw, boiling power that leaked from his every movement.
His messy blond hair made him look like a beast just released from its cage. The large headphones still wrapped around his head gave him a strange, almost childish appearance—like a boy who never outgrew the war in his mind.
Crocodile squinted, studying the man like one might examine a rare animal thought to be extinct.
"And you, Bullet...Celebrate your freedom from Impel Down by declaring war on Edward Newgate? Even killed his son, Jozu, right in front of his eyes?"
He took a deep drag from his cigarette. The tip glowed red-hot before he exhaled a long cloud of smoke—frustration bleeding from his lungs.
"Damnit!... I'm starting to think Roger's whole crew was full of lunatics."
His eyes slid toward Sakazuki, who still sat frozen, prosthetic hand twitching faintly, gaze unfocused and haunted.
Crocodile cursed silently. His plan to claim the armor—Guts's cursed armor, the one said to defy death itself—was beginning to collapse before his eyes.
What the hell was this madman thinking, releasing Bullet?
Bullet turned, still grinning. There was a gleam in his eyes—not mockery, but something worse: excitement.
"Edward's gone soft. His little house- family—game, sons, loyalty... it made him weak."
"I want to bring him back. Back to his prime. Back to the era when Captain Roger was still breathing."
Bullet's eyes burned—not with anger, but with fanaticism. An obsession with an age of chaos, blood, and strength.
Smoke curled between Crocodile's fingers.
The hourglass below continued to drip, grain by grain, like a countdown to slaughter.
Crocodile finally broke the silence.
"Sakazuki," he said, voice flat. "You contacted me through the Baroque Works network. Made me an offer I never thought I'd hear from a Vice Admiral."
Sakazuki didn't look up. He simply stared at the ceiling, eyes locked on a flickering shadow—one shaped like a scorched corpse.
His prosthetic hand twitched again.
"You want to kill Guts," Crocodile continued, voice lowering to a near-growl. "The Devil Swordsman. The living curse. And you need me?"
"Not need," Sakazuki rasped. "But you want him, too. I know that much."
Crocodile chuckled, low and bitter. He flicked the ash from his cigarette onto the wet metal floor, where the crocodiles still circled the dying Marine.
"His armor..." he muttered. "They say it rejects death. That it was forged from suffering and blood. That makes the wearer immortal. That kind of power doesn't belong to someone like him. It belongs to me. The armor only answers to someone who has lost all fear. And Guts... isn't the only monster who qualifies."
Sakazuki finally looked up. His eyes were black pits.
"I just want him dead!" He spat, with a face full of madness.
"Guts will come to Alabasta," Crocodile said. "I made sure of it. He'll come."
"And then," Sakazuki added, voice rising slightly, "You'll convince King Cobra to rally his troops. You'll deceive him. Say that Guts is coming to raid the kingdom. And as Vice Admiral, I'll back your story. I'll give Cobra the green light. Navy and Baroque Works, united. Pretending to protect the people... while setting the perfect trap."
Crocodile smiled, slow and malicious.
"An execution disguised as a salvation."
But before the moment could settle, a deep, guttural laugh echoed from the corner.
Bullet.
He stepped out of the shadows, voice like thunder barely restrained.
"You two are the most pathetic cowards I've ever seen."
His stare burned through them, lips curled into a cruel grin.
"Two old dogs. One hides behind politics. The other... can't sleep without drowning in alcohol."
"Guts can't be killed with lies." He spat on the floor.
"If you want him dead, I'll do it. One-on-one. No armies. No kings. Just sand, steel, and blood."
Crocodile narrowed his eyes.
"You..." he whispered, realization dawning.
"You don't think anything when you release him, don't you?"
Sakazuki didn't deny it. His chin lifted, proud despite the tremor in his voice.
"No one can stop me taking out anyone from Impel Down," he muttered. "Not when I has the keys."
Crocodile dropped his cigarette.
"You're insane."
Sakazuki rose slowly. His body trembled—not just from exhaustion, not from fear—but from something worse: the growing pull of the curse.
"Guts isn't human. He's not a pirate. Not a soldier. He's a mistake. A blight."
"Ever since that curse entered me... I've known. He has to die. And if he really can't die? I'll make him want to die!"
He looked directly at Crocodile.
"And who else could pierce the hide of a demon... if not another demon?"
From the corner, Bullet let out a howling laugh, his voice like a collapsing wall of stone.
"Of course. Of course. You let me out, Vice Admiral. Not because you trust me—But because you don't trust yourself anymore."
He stepped forward, each footfall like a drumbeat.
"You think I'll kneel to you after it's done? You think I'll hand over that armor to this sandworm?"
He glanced at Crocodile.
"I'll take Guts's head...And if I'm feeling generous, I'll take yours too."
Crocodile's hook snapped up, gold glinting in the low light.
Sakazuki's prosthetic hand began to drip magma onto the floor—subconsciously, instinctively.
The temperature rose.
Three monsters.
One fragile alliance.
And not a single ounce of trust between them.
But one thing was certain:
Guts is coming to Alabasta.
And only one of them will leave alive.
***
Midnight on the sea Near Amazon Lily.
Robin had buried herself in books ever since her training with Marigold ended that afternoon. Her pen hadn't stopped moving. One hand scribbled notations, while the other flipped through the pages of an old navigation tome. She was tracing a sea route from Amazon Lily to Alabasta — mapping every island in between.
Then came a knock at her cabin door.
Soft.
Steady.
Robin glanced at the calendar hanging beside the door, then reached into her coat pocket for the silver pocket watch Guts had given her.
Just past midnight.
Today was her 21st birthday.
She stood, slipping on the heavy fur-lined coat that had hung untouched for a year — a birthday gift from Guts when she turned twenty. It smelled faintly of oil and ocean salt, with a warmth that reminded her of home.
She left a beautifully wrapped gift on the table—no bother to open it.
When she stepped out onto the deck, the wind was cool, the stars hidden behind drifting clouds. The sea shimmered under faint moonlight — silent, restless.
And there he was.
Guts.
Unchanging.
Timeless.
He looked exactly as he had when she was eight years old — the same battered black cloak, the same worn-down armor beneath it, the same haunted eyes. He sat on a thick picnic blanket with crossed legs and an awkward sort of tension in his shoulders — like a man who had fought everything, but now fought silence.
In front of him sat a towering birthday cake, a bottle of rum, and two slices of apple pie.
And not a single vegetable in sight.
"It's your birthday, kid," he said gruffly. "Take a break."
Robin giggled softly and sat down across from him, grabbing the bottle of rum and taking a long sip.
But Guts saw it — the unease behind her smile. The way her brow furrowed, the subtle tremble in her hands.
He couldn't help but ask: "Well, kid? Something on your mind?"
She looked out toward the sea, where a massive shape floated in the distance — a colossal silhouette with writhing tentacles and a dorsal fin slicing the water. Gargar —her friend, and the ship's eternal guardian.
Robin's voice came soft and hesitant.
"Do you remember what Rayleigh said last year... about the Void Century? About the truth of the world?"
Guts nodded slowly, not interrupting.
"About destruction for the one who tried to uncover it."
Robin hugged her knees, eyes distant.
"My mother left me behind in Ohara for that dream... To uncover that truth. And so did Professor Clover. And all the scholars. Tens of thousands of lives... wiped out for knowledge."
Her voice cracked.
"I want to know, Father. I really do... But I don't want to lose what we have. When everything started to become normal."
Tears streamed down her cheeks. She tried to suppress them, but her shoulders trembled. Her words, so carefully measured for years, finally broke free.
"I don't know what to choose... My dream? Or the quiet life we've finally found..."
Guts didn't speak right away.
Instead, he moved beside her, sitting close, letting the cloak of silence settle over them.
Then, wordlessly, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder — the heavy gauntlet cold at first, then steady, grounding.
"Don't worry, kid," he murmured. "Do what you want. I've got your back."
Robin turned to look at him — red-eyed, vulnerable, but no longer alone.
"Even if the world burns?"
"Especially if it does." Guts smirk, he only need to do the best he can do.
Slice anything close enough to endanger Robin
Above them, Gargar let out a distant, deep-throated groan — not a threat, but a warning.
A reminder that even monsters could guard what they love too.
And beneath the soft breath of the midnight wind, the Devil Swordsman and his daughter sat under the stars.