The harpoon didn't just pierce skin; it anchored a soul.
The Sea-Prism tip buried itself deep in Oars's pectoral muscle, the serrated edge grinding against the massive, calcified collarbone with a sound like a landslide. The stone's eerie green glow pulsed in a sickening rhythm with the giant's failing heart, a parasitic light that seemed to drink the very color from his sunset-red skin. Oars didn't roar this time. He let out a wet, rattling wheeze—a sound of structural failure that shook the Tempest's Fury to its keel. The "Sea Energy" radiating from the stone bled into his marrow, turning his iron-dense muscles into leaden weights.
The Fury lurched violently to the starboard side, the gunwales dipping beneath the churning froth. Oars was sliding into the black water, and his sheer, prehistoric mass, tethered by the harpoon's steel cable to the winch of the submerged Hunter-Submersible, was dragging the ship toward a watery grave.
"Cut the line! Now!" Zeff shouted, his voice cracking over the hiss of escaping steam and the rhythmic thunder of Marine cannons. He lunged for the main mast, his right boot glowing a dull, angry orange as he prepared to deliver a friction-heated blade-kick to the rigging. "Sinbad! He's dragging us under! The whole fucking ship is going to snap!"
Sinbad didn't move. He stood at the railing, his knuckles white as he gripped the hilt of Maelstrom. The Singularity in his chest wasn't just vibrating now—it was screaming, a high-frequency resonance of potential futures. He saw the two paths laid out in the cold geometry of the Singularity: The first, a ship sailing away into the fog, light and fast, leaving a red stain and a broken promise in the harbor. The second, a kingdom built on a foundation of blood, bone, and a stubbornness that defied the gods.
"Don't touch the rigging, Zeff," Sinbad said. His voice was unnervingly quiet, a low hum that somehow sat beneath the chaos of the battle.
"Are you insane? Look at the deck!" Zeff snarled, ducking as a stray musket ball splintered the wood inches from his ear, spraying him with pine shards. "It's the Giant or the dream, eggplant! Fucking choose!"
Sinbad turned. His golden eyes weren't just glowing; they were bleeding a faint, white-hot light—the visual resonance of a soul being overclocked. "Oars is the dream, Zeff. Stand back."
Sinbad leaped. He didn't jump for the safety of the docks or the distraction of the skiffs. He dived straight into the churned, bloody brine beside the sinking giant.
The cold was a physical assault, a jagged blade of South Blue ice. Below the surface, the world was a murky nightmare of rising bubbles and iron. He saw the submersible—a jagged, black leech of Government engineering clinging to the seabed. The winch was spinning, reeling Oars in like a prize catch, the cable taut enough to hum a low, deadly note through the water.
Sinbad grabbed the cable. The moment his palms made contact with the steel, the Sea-Prism energy surged through him. It felt like his veins were being injected with liquid glass, a freezing numbness that raced toward his heart. His Haki flickered like a dying candle. His strength began to drain into the abyss. But Sinbad wasn't a Devil Fruit user; he was a Singularity—a hole in the world that took everything and gave nothing back.
He didn't fight the energy. He devoured it.
I am the sea, he thought, a mantra from a life spent staring at blue horizons he hadn't yet reached. And the sea does not bow to a stone.
He channeled his frustration—the manic, suppressed rage that had been building since the day he'd stepped off Baterilla—into his grip. He didn't just pull the cable; he pushed his Will through it. This was the "Flow" he had been lecturing Zeff about—the ability to project the soul beyond the confines of the flesh.
The cable turned a glossy, obsidian black, the Haki traveling down the line like a surge of dark lightning. The "Internal Flow" slammed into the winch of the submersible. The gears didn't just stop; they disintegrated. The pressure of Sinbad's Will, focused through the conductor of the cable, shattered the submersible's internal steam-core.
A muffled, heavy thump echoed through the water, felt in the lungs more than heard. A plume of black oil and orange fire erupted from the mechanical leech as it died, the explosion sending a shockwave that rattled Sinbad's ribs.
Sinbad surfaced, gasping for air, his lungs burning with the taste of salt and diesel. He scrambled onto Oars's massive chest, which was now bobbing in the water like a fleshy, heaving island.
"Oars! Look at me, you big idiot!"
The giant's eyes were glassy, his pupils unfocused and blown wide. The Sea-Prism harpoon was still wedged in his bone, acting as a spiritual drain on his life force.
"Captain..." Oars whispered, the sound a wet gargle of salt and lung-blood. "Too... heavy. Let... go."
"Nothing is too heavy for the shield of Sindria," Sinbad lied, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He grabbed the blood-slicked shaft of the harpoon. He knew the moment he pulled it, the drain on his own energy would be immense—a spiritual vacuum.
He roared—a sound that was raw, primal, and entirely inhuman. His Conqueror's Haki erupted in a golden dome, the sheer pressure of his spirit pushing the spray of the sea back in a perfect, shimmering circle. With a wrenching, agonizing twist that tore his own shoulder muscles and sent a spray of giant-blood into the air, he ripped the Sea-Prism tip out of Oars's chest.
He didn't just drop it. He hurled the cursed stone into the lightless abyss.
Oars's body jolted as if struck by lightning. The "Life Force" of the Ancient Giant flooded back, a tectonic surge of vitality that made his muscles swell and his eyes clear. He reached out, his hand larger than a longboat, and gripped the splintered rail of the Fury.
"Up," Oars rumbled, the sound returning to its deep, mountain-shaking bass.
With a heave that nearly capsized the brigantine and sent Zeff sprawling across the deck, the giant hauled himself back onto the reinforced timber.
The Marine Warships were closing in, their prows cutting through the black smoke of the harbor like the teeth of a saw. But the Fury was free. The "Hunter-Submersible" was a twisted wreck on the seafloor, and the exit to the open sea was a wide, dark throat.
Sinbad climbed back aboard, his body trembling with the tremors of Haki-exhaustion. Zeff met him at the rail, his expression a mask of frustrated, angry relief. He looked at Sinbad's shredded, blood-stained palms, then at the giant.
"You're a fucking fool, Sinbad," Zeff said, though he shoved a flask of "Fire-Starter" broth into Sinbad's hand. It was steaming, smelling of bone marrow and peppers. "You almost let a piece of rock sink the entire future. You don't trade a ship for a man. That's Pirate 101."
Sinbad took a long, burning swig, the spicy liquid grounding his senses and stopping the shivers. He looked at Oars, who was sitting on the deck, plugging the cavernous wound in his chest with a wad of spare sail-cloth.
"The rock didn't sink us, Zeff," Sinbad said, his eyes finding the masked agent on the distant Warship bridge. "It anchored us. Now they know. The Marines, the Government, the Reef... they all know we don't leave people behind. That's the price of the crown I'm forging."
"That's a weakness," Zeff spat, though he didn't move away. He adjusted his apron, looking at the approaching horizon. "In the Grand Line, that's how you get everyone killed. You're building a kingdom on a fault line, eggplant."
As the Tempest's Fury caught the offshore wind, the sails snapping taut as they vanished into the thick South Blue fog, the masked agent lowered his binoculars.
"Director," he spoke into the black Den-Den Mushi, his voice devoid of emotion. "The target didn't choose the ship. He chose the Giant. His 'Will' is even more volatile than the Baterilla reports suggested. He didn't just resist the Sea-Prism; he used the cable as a conduit for a projected Haki discharge. The Mark-IV is a total loss."
"Is the tracker active?" the cold, bureaucratic voice replied from the snail.
"Yes. The harpoon's tip was Sea-Prism, but the shaft contained a vibrating resonance-transponder. We can follow the 'Singularity' even through a hurricane. They can't hide."
"Good. Let them run toward the North. Let them think they've won a victory of sentiment. We'll wait until he makes contact with the 'Scholar.' We don't just want the boy anymore. We want the Navigator, too. The set must be complete."
Sinbad, standing at the helm, looked down at his hands. They were stained with Oars's blood and the black, greasy residue of his own forced Haki. He felt the Singularity shifting again, the "Destiny" no longer a weight, but a trail of fire in his mind.
He knew they were being watched. He could feel the cold, distant gaze of the World Government like a needle in the back of his neck.
"Zeff," Sinbad called out, his voice regaining its charismatic edge. "Prepare the high-protein rations. We're heading for the North Blue. We have a date with a girl who can read the stars."
Zeff paused at the galley door, his nascent blonde mustache twitching. "If she eats as much as the giant, I'm quitting."
"She doesn't," Sinbad laughed, though his eyes remained fixed on the fog. "But she's going to cost us a lot more than food."