Urouge hefted the massive iron pillar high above his head and brought it crashing down—only for another hand to rise and catch it.
Davy Jones' fingers dug into the iron as though it were clay, embedding themselves deep.
The "Mad Monk" tried to wrench the weapon free, but it didn't budge. His giant's strength, earned through his Devil Fruit, felt like nothing more than the flailing of a hungry infant before Davy Jones.
"Let's make this an experiment." Davy Jones' voice echoed cold and hollow in Urouge's ears. "How much damage must you take before you can grow enough to stand as my equal?"
Urouge's eyes widened in shock.
From beneath Davy Jones' black cloak, countless tentacles shot forth like blades, piercing through Urouge's arms, legs, and abdomen—skewering him like a hedgehog.
The monk screamed, his hands loosening from the pillar as he staggered back. Wrenching himself free of the writhing tendrils, blood gushed hotly from the punctures.
With one hand, Davy Jones hefted the iron pillar and hurled it. It struck Urouge square in the chest, flinging him back into the dirt.
He collapsed on his back, limbs splayed wide. His swollen body shrank rapidly, until he had returned to his original size. Blood soaked his wings, dyeing them a grotesque crimson.
Davy Jones stepped forward, looking down at the unconscious Supernova.
"So it seems the results of this experiment are unsatisfactory for both of us."
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a compass. Flicking it open, he watched the needle whirl a few times before settling, trembling, in a rough direction.
From the nearby ship graveyard, Den had witnessed everything.
He was terrified—unable to comprehend how in just a matter of minutes events had escalated into this nightmare.
The ship he had so painstakingly coated was being devoured by that monstrous black vessel. Its crew either leapt to their deaths or were swallowed by its gnashing maw.
As for their captain—the "Mad Monk" Urouge—he now lay sprawled on the ground, looking as if he had finally found his first peaceful sleep.
Den turned back to the figure who had wrought such destruction—only to find Davy Jones gone. Were it not for the Terror Ghost still looming in the Sea Forest, he might have thought it all a dream.
In the southeast of Fish-Man Island, the thunderous noises drew the attention of "Godfather" Capone Bege. He halted and looked toward the sound.
"What's over there?" he asked.
"At the far end is the Sea Forest," one of his men replied. "It's a ship graveyard, and there's a shipwright there with incredible skill. The craftsman who coated our ship once recommended him."
"Then why didn't we hire him?"
"He was already coating the Mad Monk Urouge's ship."
Bege's brow furrowed, unease growing. "And why hasn't our ship set sail yet?"
"For some reason, Ryugu Palace tightened inspections today," the man answered. "To leave Fish-Man Island through the gates, we need official documents—permits, procedures… It's chaos there right now."
"Pirates have come and gone here for years, and they never demanded paperwork. Why today?" Bege's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Is there anyone who can get us those documents?"
His subordinate hesitated, then admitted, "That's the strangest part… Even the Fish-Men who normally do anything if you pay them—today they told me they have to 'follow the law.'"
Bege froze, cigar halfway to his lips. After a moment of thought, he asked suddenly:
"Don't you think it's gotten a little too quiet around here?"
At his words, the others noticed it too. They turned, glancing around—and realized the streets had emptied. At some point, everyone else had vanished.
Then, from the houses and shops along the street, Fish-Men and merfolk emerged. They smiled strangely at Bege's crew before retreating back inside, shutting and bolting their doors.
The street became desolate—save for Bege and his men.
"This isn't right." Bege pocketed his cigar. "Move. We're getting out of here."
"Yes, Boss," his men answered quickly.
They hurried, but before they could reach the far end of the street, a towering figure stepped into view.
It was a face they had seen just yesterday—on a bounty poster.
"Fuck," Bege cursed under his breath, instantly realizing the malice of the entire island. "Form up! Open fire!"
His subordinates rushed forward, shielding him, and drew their pistols.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Bullets poured down in a storm, riddling Davy Jones like a beehive—but nothing slowed his approach.
Step by step, he advanced. The holes in his body closed the instant the bullets passed through.
Soon, their magazines were empty, and the mobsters stood frozen, staring in disbelief at the unharmed figure before them.
"You'll need heavier firepower than bullets to test me," Davy Jones said calmly.
"Clear the way!" Bege barked from behind them.
Well-trained, his men immediately moved aside, revealing their boss. From within his own body, the barrel of a massive cannon emerged, its muzzle aimed straight at Davy Jones.
Davy Jones gave a small nod. "Yes. That's better."
Boom!
The cannon roared, smoke and fire trailing the shell as it screamed toward Davy Jones.
But a tentacle snapped out, catching the shell in midair. With the fluid motion of a shot put thrower, he spun and hurled it back—faster than it had left the cannon.
Kaboom!
The explosion engulfed Bege and his men before they could react. Flames and smoke swallowed them, gouging a crater in the street.
From their perspective, it was as if the shell had somehow detonated beneath their own feet.
Davy Jones strode into the devastation. Amid shattered limbs and scattered remains, he found Bege. A tentacle dragged the battered mob boss out, tossing him onto the ground.
Bege's fortress-body lay wide open, chaos within—tiny corpses of the men housed inside, fragments of weaponry scattered about.
"A man who is a fortress, hiding an army within…" Davy Jones murmured, studying him. "But a gate that opens for friends… also opens for enemies."
Bege was still breathing. His eyes fluttered open, chest heaving, but no words came.
"Rest easy. It is not your time of judgment yet," Davy Jones said, once again producing his compass. He flicked it open, watching the needle spin. "First, I must hunt down the others."
He stepped past Bege, moving down the street.
Only then did the doors and shutters begin to creak open, one by one. To Bege's ears, the sound was nightmarish.
Fish-Men and merfolk emerged, circling around the fallen mob boss and his crew, gazing down at them in silence.
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