The Black Pearl bucked as the water lurched upwards.
Rigging snapped tight. Canvas screamed. The deck pitched hard enough that Pintel's boots left the planks for a heartbeat before he landed flat on his backside with an offended yelp.
"CAPTAIN!" he shouted, scrambling up and grabbing the railing as the ship lurched again. "We're leaving—right? We are absolutely leaving—"
Ragetti was already at the ropes, hands moving with the frantic efficiency of a man who could feel his own funeral approaching. He tied off one line and reached for another, then froze mid-motion and stared at Jack.
"Speaking of leaving," Ragetti said, breathless, "where's Augur? And—" he swallowed, "—where's Gibbs?"
Jack, who had been watching the island with a calm focus like one might view a bar fight as if he wasn't definitely the one who started it and then left midway, blinked once.
"Gibbs," he repeated, rolling the word around as if it were a new kind of fruit. "Yes. He does have a habit of… disappearing and reappearing."
Ragetti's eye narrowed. "No one has seen him for four days."
That made Jack pause properly.
He turned his head toward Crocodile.
Crocodile had both hands on her hips, coat fluttering in the hot wind rolling off the island, cigar clenched between her teeth like it was the only thing keeping her from killing someone.
The moment Jack looked at her, she closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"No," she muttered. "Don't you start. Don't you even—"
Jack smiled anyway, slow and pleased, like a child who'd found a loose floorboard and knew there was treasure beneath it.
"So you know where he is."
Crocodile's eyelid twitched. "He went exploring. Like an idiot."
Jack's smile widened. "That sounds like Gibbs."
"He ran into an accident," Crocodile continued, tone clipped. "Augur and I went to look for him. When we found him, he warned us the island was about to erupt."
Pintel leaned over the railing, eyes wide. "And they're still not here?!"
Crocodile took the cigar out of her mouth and pointed it like a dagger at the jungle. "They're coming. They were behind me."
"You left them?" Ragetti asked. Crocodile turned to glare at him and he quickly shut up any further words.
As if the island wanted to prove her right, the ground rolled again, and a thunderous bellow rippled through the forest line.
Pintel, still clinging to the rail, squinted toward the stampede. Among the white bodies and heaving tusks, he caught it—two faint, tiny dots against the chaos.
One dot was running like its life depended on it.
The other was also running like its life depended on it, but with extra theatrical despair—arms windmilling, head thrown back, mouth open in what was absolutely, unquestionably, a scream.
Pintel's face lit up with the relief of a man who'd just remembered he wasn't dying alone.
"I SEE THEM!" he yelled, pointing with such enthusiasm he nearly toppled. "THEY'RE THERE!"
Jack lifted his spyglass and brought it to his eye.
The glass framed two figures weaving between the monsters of the island like ants fleeing a boot.
Augur was the straight line: efficient, fast, unnervingly calm even when sprinting.
Gibbs was the zigzag: swerving, slipping, shouting curses at animals that were not listening and at fate that certainly wasn't listening either.
Jack lowered the spyglass with a small, satisfied hum.
"There they are."
Crocodile didn't look relieved.
She looked tired.
A sound tore out of the island's heart and then the mountain in the center of the island split.
Magma fountained upward in a violent red column. Smoke and ash billowed out so thick it swallowed the sky. The air turned heavy with heat and grit, and the sea seemed to recoil.
The eruption struck the ship like a fist.
The Pearl rocked sideways, hard enough that the deck became a slant. Pintel stumbled, lost his footing, and went over the side with a strangled noise that sounded like his soul leaving his body.
"PINTEL!" Ragetti screamed, dropping everything and diving after him without thinking.
The moment Pintel hit the water, his body seized with panic.
Devil fruit users, hated by the sea.
He flailed, mouth opening, and seawater poured in.
Ragetti surfaced beside him like a madman, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him upward with surprising strength.
They broke the surface, sputtering.
Pintel coughed so hard he nearly folded in half. When he finally managed to inhale, he spat a mouthful of seawater and wheezed, "It's… it's way too salty."
Ragetti, clinging to him and treading water with a grimace, blinked. "What? The sea is salty?"
Pintel coughed again and said, very seriously, "We should separate the salt from the water and sell it."
Ragetti stared at him for a second, then nodded, like he'd been offered a revelation.
"That's a very good idea."
From above, Crocodile leaned over the rail and looked down at them with pure contempt.
"How," she asked slowly, "do you plan to separate salt from seawater on a ship in the middle of an eruption."
Pintel opened his mouth.
No sound came out.
Ragetti looked at him expectantly.
Pintel turned his head as if the answer might be floating on the surface next to them.
It was not.
Before either of them could recover their dignity, a shadow passed across the deck.
They all looked up.
The volcano, roaring like it was laughing, had vomited a molten rock the size of a building. It arced through the air like a thrown planet, trailing fire, falling with dreadful certainty—
Not toward the Pearl.
Toward the clearing.
Toward the two giants.
Jack's expression changed.
Crocodile saw it.
She turned sharply. "We leave now."
The herd of white elephants was close enough that Gibbs' hoarse curses were audible over the roar of the eruption. The beasts were almost at the beach.
Jack did not move.
He kept staring inland.
Crocodile's eyes narrowed. "Don't you even think—"
Jack turned to her and smiled, almost apologetic.
"I have some work to do."
And before anyone could stop him, he vaulted the rail and dropped onto the sand like gravity was an opinion.
"CAPTAIN!" Ragetti screamed from the water.
Crocodile's face hardened. "Idiot."
Jack was already running.
Dorry and Brogy did not notice the eruption at first.
Or perhaps they did, and simply ignored it.
They stood locked in a stalemate that had been eighty years in the making—breath heaving, muscles corded, weapons trembling. Their bodies were scarred with age and battle, but their eyes were young with stubbornness.
Eighty years of pride.
Eighty years of friendship sharpened into rivalry.
Each impact of their weapons sent shockwaves rolling through the island, and each shockwave fed the volcano like oil on fire.
Brogy's axe trembled in his hands.
He looked down at it.
The metal was wrong now—hairline fractures webbing along the blade, the weapon bending under a lifetime of abuse and an island's worth of force.
Brogy exhaled, and for a moment the fury in his eyes softened into something older.
Something tired.
He lifted his gaze to Dorry.
"Brother," he said, voice quieter than it had been in decades. "The humans… they were right."
Dorry blinked, caught off guard not by the words but by the tone.
Brogy's grin returned, but it wasn't mocking.
It was fond.
"We can't keep fighting on."
Dorry's jaw tightened. He looked at Brogy's stance, the slight shake in his arms. Then he looked at his own hands, the worn grip on his sword.
He had not allowed himself to admit it.
Not once.
But hearing it aloud made it real.
Dorry swallowed hard, then lifted his head, trying to regain the old fire with sheer will.
"If we stop," he said, voice rough, "then what was the reason?"
Brogy's brows lifted.
Dorry's eyes narrowed, as if offended by his own uncertainty. "Why… why did we start this duel?"
Silence.
Brogy stared.
Then, slowly, his eyes widened with the same realization.
He didn't remember.
The reason—the spark that had lit eighty years of battle—had been eroded by time, worn away by pride until only the duel remained.
Brogy's lips pulled into a smile that looked almost painful.
He opened his mouth to answer anyway—to invent a reason, if he had to, because warriors did not admit emptiness—
The island roared again.
The sky went red.
The molten rock came down like judgment.
Brogy turned his head too late.
Something slammed into his side—sharp, burning, unimaginably heavy—and his body lifted off the ground like he weighed nothing at all.
"BROGY!" Dorry's scream tore out of him.
Brogy crashed across the sand, rolling, carving a trench in the beach before finally stopping near the shoreline.
Smoke rose from the wound torn into his side. Blood—thick and dark—spilled down over his skin, hissing faintly where it met heat.
Brogy coughed, and red sprayed into the sand.
Dorry ran to him in two strides, dropping to one knee.
Brogy blinked up at him, smiling weakly.
A laugh tried to leave his chest and turned into another cough.
"Heh," Brogy rasped. "So… that's it."
Dorry's face twisted with horror and fury. "Don't you dare speak like that!"
Brogy's eyes softened, stubborn even now. "Looks like… we finally got our winner."
Dorry's teeth clenched so hard they creaked.
He turned, eyes blazing toward the volcano.
Another burning rock was already flying toward them, as if the island itself had decided to take revenge against the two giants for decades of destruction.
Dorry pushed himself to his feet, body shaking with anger and grief.
His sword rose.
His stance formed, instinct older than memory.
"After you heal," Dorry growled, voice cracking, "we fight again. I refuse this ending."
Brogy coughed blood and still managed a grin. "Idiot…"
The molten rock descended.
Dorry drew power into his body—every muscle, every breath, every ounce of warrior pride—and unleashed it.
"HAKOKU!"
The air screamed.
A compressed, invisible slash ripped forward and split the burning rock apart midair. Lava and stone scattered in a rain of fire.
But the price was immediate.
Dorry's blade, already worn and fractured, couldn't bear the force.
It shattered.
The sword broke into pieces with a sharp metallic wail.
Dorry froze, staring at the ruined hilt in his hand.
For a giant, it looked like a child's broken toy.
He sank down beside Brogy, shoulders heaving.
"…We need to go back," Dorry said hoarsely. "Back to Elbaf."
Brogy's smile was faint but real. "Aye…"
The island answered with cruel timing.
Another rock—larger, hotter—came screaming down toward them, as if the volcano resented mercy.
Dorry looked up.
No sword.
Only his body.
He planted his feet anyway, forcing himself to rise. Even unarmed, he squared his shoulders between the falling fire and his brother.
Brogy's eyes widened. "Dorry—"
Dorry didn't move.
He prepared to take it.
"Death's Paradise First Form- Loafer's Dream."