Chapter 294

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*****

Skylark Island, Grandline

The tropical island had once been a peaceful paradise, a jewel nestled along one of the lesser-known routes of the Grand Line. Lush with greenery and rich with fertile soil, it was renowned for its unique export of exotic fruits.

These fruits, prized for their sweet flavors and vibrant colors, had been traded across the seas for generations. Sailors from all over the Grand Line sought the island's rare produce, making it a popular stop for merchants and travelers.

Yet, despite its bountiful offerings, the island was largely ignored by the larger powers of the world. Few bothered to travel this route, and the people lived in relative peace—until recently.

Now, the island's fame was no longer tied to its fruits. It had become infamous as the location of one of the most brutal attacks on the Marines in recent memory. In a shocking and brazen act of defiance, a group of rebels had ambushed and slaughtered an entire Marine squad, their severed heads delivered as a gruesome bounty to the underworld.

The World Government had wasted no time responding. Their orders were clear: eradicate anyone involved—no matter how tangentially—with the attack. Families, informants, even those who had merely kept silent—all were to be executed without mercy.

The message was simple: the Marines' wrath would be absolute, and their vengeance would strike fear into the hearts of all who dared to oppose them.

Now, the island was paying the price for harboring such defiance.

The once bustling streets, where merchants and fishermen had once moved freely, were now desolate. The marketplace, once alive with the smell of ripe fruit and the sound of haggling, lay abandoned.

The only sounds were the clattering boots of Marines, marching in formation as they patrolled the empty lanes, their rifles at the ready. The entire island was under martial law, and the 10,000 Marines deployed from the G113 Marine Base had effectively turned the island into a cage, trapping its 400,000 inhabitants inside. No ships were allowed in or out, and the blockade around the island was airtight. Escape was impossible.

No one could leave. No one could hide.

A Marine officer, his uniform caked with dirt and dried blood, dragged an underworld informant through the barren streets by the collar. The informant—a man once confident in the shadows of the criminal underworld—was now a pitiful sight.

His face was swollen and bruised beyond recognition, his left eye gouged out and still bleeding, a dark reminder of what happens to those who withhold information from the Marines. His breath came in shallow gasps, his legs barely able to keep up as he was dragged along the cobblestones.

"This one... this one..." the informant croaked, his voice barely a whisper. His trembling finger pointed shakily towards a rundown house in a narrow alley. Blood dripped down his face, mingling with the sweat and dirt that covered his body.

The Marine officer, a hulking figure with a deep scowl, snarled down at the informant. "You better be sure," he growled, his hand tightening on the informant's collar. His eyes burned with barely contained fury. "Don't make me gouge out your other eye."

The officer's rage was palpable. Normally, even for a Marine, this level of brutality would have been extreme. But these were not normal times. His mind was haunted by the image of his subordinates—men and women who had served under him for years—now lying headless in a pile, their bodies desecrated, their honor stolen.

He could still remember the stench of their blood, the cold rage that had gripped him when he swore to make whoever was responsible pay. There was no room for mercy in his heart, not after what had happened. The Marine officer had already decided: this island would be made an example.

He turned to his squad, who stood by in grim silence, their rifles raised and ready. "You know the orders. No one leaves. Anyone who harbored those traitors—execute them on the spot."

"Yes, sir!" the Marines responded in unison, their voices cold and unwavering. The World Government's command had been explicit—**total extermination** of all who had aided in the attack. The Marines were here not just to capture, but to obliterate any semblance of resistance.

Entire families were to be wiped from existence. Those who had given shelter to the criminals, or even turned a blind eye, would face the same fate. The islanders, huddled inside their homes, could only tremble in fear, their walls offering no protection from the unstoppable force bearing down on them.

The Marine officer slammed the informant against the wall of the alley, his hand now gripping the man's throat. "If you're lying," he hissed, his voice low and venomous, "I'll make sure you regret surviving this long."

"I swear... I swear, it's the right house!" the informant pleaded, tears mingling with the blood on his face. He knew that his only chance of survival rested on the information he gave. If he was wrong, he would meet the same fate as those he betrayed. The Marine officer sneered, throwing the man aside like a ragdoll before signaling to his men to surround the house.

"Search it. Tear it apart if you have to."

Within moments, the Marines had stormed the house, smashing down the door and flooding inside. The sounds of boots trampling over wooden floors echoed through the streets, followed by the heavy thud of furniture being overturned and walls being broken.

There were no cries of resistance from within, only the terrified whimpering of the inhabitants—a family who had once lived peacefully on the island, now caught in the relentless grip of Marine justice.

In the dimly lit, shabby house, two families huddled together in absolute terror. The once vibrant home, filled with laughter and the sweet smell of fruits from the island's bountiful harvest, now felt more like a prison.

The shutters were closed tightly, offering little protection from the horrors they knew awaited them outside. The air was thick with fear; even the children were too scared to cry, their wide eyes darting nervously from one adult to another, seeking any form of reassurance. But there was none to give.

The men, two of them—friends and neighbors—sat silently near the door. Their faces were pale, drawn with the weight of what they had done. They hadn't been part of the brutal murders of the Marines, but they had given information.

It had seemed harmless at the time—just a few words about the Marines' patrol schedule, a piece of information given out of fear. But now they understood the consequences. The screams of those who had actually killed the Marines still echoed from the town square.

The assailants had been dragged there days ago, their tortured cries carrying through the streets. Everyone had heard them. And everyone knew that anyone remotely involved was next.

A soft sob escaped from one of the women, the wife of one of the men. She clutched her young daughter tightly, rocking back and forth in silent prayer, hoping against hope that the Marines would somehow overlook their home. But deep down, they all knew better.

Suddenly, the door was smashed open with a deafening crash.

"BAM!"

Wood splintered and fell to the floor, and within seconds, Marines flooded into the small house. Their boots stomped on the dirt floor, and their cold eyes scanned the room with predatory malice. There were ten Marines—hardened men, grim-faced, their uniforms stained with blood from the other homes they had already raided.

"NO! Please, we didn't do anything!" One of the men, a middle-aged islander with graying hair, immediately leapt to his feet, his hands raised in surrender. His voice trembled with desperation. "We're innocent! I swear, we had no part in the killing! We only gave them the patrol schedules—"

His words were cut off by the butt of a rifle smashing into his face. He crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from his nose, gasping for air as pain shot through his skull.

"Shut your mouth, scum," snarled the Marine who had struck him, his voice full of venom.

"Information? You think that makes you less guilty? You helped them, and now you'll pay the price."

The other man, younger and stronger, tried to step forward, his hands raised defensively. "Wait, please! You don't understand! We didn't know they were going to—"

A brutal kick to the stomach silenced him. He doubled over, coughing and wheezing as the Marines surrounded him. The other adults in the room froze, their eyes wide with terror, knowing that there was no reasoning with these men. The air was filled with dread as the Marines closed in like a pack of wolves.

"Please! Our families… they had nothing to do with this!" the middle-aged man begged, his voice hoarse, as he lay on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

The Marine officer in charge, a cruel-looking man with a jagged scar across his face, sneered down at him. "It doesn't matter. Everyone dies today."

The women began to scream as the Marines advanced on them, dragging them to their feet by their hair. The children, wide-eyed and terrified, clung to their mothers, but it was no use. The Marines ripped them away, shoving the mothers to the ground.

The officer glanced around the room, his eyes landing on the young daughter of the man who had first pleaded for mercy. She was no older than sixteen, her body trembling as she tried to hide behind her mother.

"Not this one," the officer said, a sick smile curling across his lips as he pointed to the girl. "Take her."

"NO!" her mother screamed, trying to shield her daughter, but the Marines easily overpowered her, slamming her to the ground with a brutal force that knocked the wind from her lungs.

The girl screamed, thrashing in their grip as two of the Marines grabbed her by the arms and dragged her toward the back of the house. Her father, bloodied and barely conscious, tried to rise, but he was kicked back down by a Marine boot before he could even move.

"Please!" the girl cried, her voice hoarse and desperate. "Please, don't—!"

But the Marines laughed, their depravity on full display as they dragged her into the shadows, her screams echoing throughout the house. The other women, powerless to help, sobbed in horror, knowing what was happening but too terrified to act.

Outside, the sounds of the girl's cries grew fainter, swallowed by the oppressive silence of the streets. Inside, the Marine officer turned his attention back to the rest of the group.

"You'll all be executed for treason," he said with a casual shrug. "But first… we'll have our fun."

One of the women screamed as a Marine grabbed her by the throat, his hand roughly groping at her body. The children were huddled together, crying, their faces buried in each other's arms.

They knew they were next. There was no escaping the horror that awaited them.

The Marine officer walked slowly to the center of the room, surveying the terrified faces of the men, women, and children around him. He chuckled darkly, as if savoring their fear.

"This is what happens," he said, his voice cold and authoritative, "when you defy the World Government. This is what justice looks like. Was it fun when you exchanged those heads for the bounty…?"

The last shred of hope died in that room, replaced by the overwhelming, crushing despair of knowing that no one would come to save them. The island, once a peaceful paradise, was now a place of horror. And the Marines—their supposed protectors—had become the harbingers of its destruction.

In the name of justice, cruelty knew no bounds.

The young Marine stood frozen, his hand gripping his rifle as he watched two bloodied men being dragged out of the house. Their faces were swollen and beaten beyond recognition, leaving a trail of crimson smears on the dirt path.

The screams of women being violated inside the house tore through the still, empty alley. It was a sound that chilled him to his core, making his stomach churn in revulsion. More Marines passed by, their faces twisted in sadistic pleasure as they eagerly entered the home, ready to partake in the horrors.

"Sir... isn't this wrong?" the young Marine finally muttered, his voice barely audible as he addressed his superior. His hands were shaking. His conscience, which had been trained to uphold the law and protect the innocent, now screamed at him in protest.

The Marine officer in charge, a veteran with years of combat etched into his hardened face, paused in his steps and turned slowly to face the younger soldier. His eyes were cold, devoid of any hint of empathy. He regarded the young Marine with a slight, condescending smirk, as though the question itself were foolish.

"Wrong?" the officer echoed, his voice eerily calm. He glanced at the bloodied bodies of the two men being dragged out, and the muffled cries still coming from inside the house. "You're newlywed, aren't you?"

The young Marine nodded, unsure where this was going but already feeling a sick sense of dread creeping into his chest.

"Would you still say this was wrong," the officer continued, his tone growing darker, "if it was your wife's head they'd exchanged for bounty? If she had been the one defiled and tortured before her head was severed?" His voice was level, as if discussing something mundane. "This is justice, soldier. Fair is fair."

The young Marine felt his throat tighten, bile rising as his superior's words sunk in. His mind flashed to his wife, safe back home, and the thought of her enduring the same fate made him clench his fists until his knuckles turned white.

Still, something inside him rebelled at the idea. This wasn't what he had signed up for. This wasn't justice—it was revenge, brutal and sickening.

"But sir," he tried again, his voice faltering, "they're civilians. They didn't—"

"They didn't what? Deserve this?" the officer interrupted, his voice cutting like a blade. He stepped closer to the young Marine, his expression darkening.

"You think these people deserve your pity? Do you think the ones who killed our comrades cared whether the women they butchered were innocent or not? Huh?" He gestured toward the house, where the muffled sounds of torment grew fainter, as if the victims inside were losing the will to scream.

"Do you hear them, soldier? That's what happens when you betray the Marines. That's what happens when you side with those who think they can kill us and walk away. And don't think for a second they wouldn't have done worse if given the chance."

The young Marine's heart pounded in his chest. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't argue with the officer's logic, but something deep inside him, something fundamental, was breaking.

The officer continued, his voice steady and cold. "Humans, at their core, are cruel, selfish animals. They just need a reason—an excuse—to let that side of them out. Once someone takes the lead, the rest will follow. Look around you. All these men? They're doing this because they want to, not because they were ordered to. They're venting their anger, their hatred. That's the nature of war. You want to talk about fairness? This is fair. They took heads, now we take theirs. They violated, now we violate."

The young Marine swallowed hard, his mouth dry. He wanted to argue, to shout that this wasn't the same, that this wasn't the justice he had been trained to believe in. But no words came. His mind was filled with the horrifying truth his superior had laid bare.

"Drag them out of the alley and behead them," the officer ordered, waving dismissively at the two men who were barely conscious, their faces masks of pain and resignation. He began to walk away but paused after taking two steps, glancing back at the young Marine with a knowing look.

"If you really want to show them mercy, kill them quickly. Be done with it."

The young Marine's heart skipped a beat as the officer's cold gaze locked onto his.

"Because the longer they stay alive, the worse it gets," the officer continued, his voice now disturbingly calm.

"Once word spreads that the women are in there, every man in this squad will want his turn. That's how it works. You understand now, don't you? Humans are beasts. And once one of them gives in, the rest will follow. That's the nature of cruelty—it's contagious. So, if you're going to be their savior, you better hurry."

The young Marine stood paralyzed, his body frozen between two worlds. His mind screamed at him to act, to do something—anything. But fear held him in place, and he watched in horror as the officer turned his back and disappeared into the alley.

His thoughts raced. The sounds from inside the house grew softer, the cries of the women barely audible now. His grip tightened on his rifle. The bloodied men being dragged away looked at him with hollow, pleading eyes, as if they knew their fate was sealed.

"Is this really justice?" he whispered to himself, though deep down, he already knew the answer.

Torn between his orders and his conscience, the young Marine stood on the precipice of a decision that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Meanwhile, the town square was a grotesque tableau of death, where piles of mutilated bodies lay discarded, their severed heads stacked like trophies on the blood-soaked cobblestones. The air was thick with the stench of rot and death, a rancid cocktail of decay and cruelty.

Hours upon hours of ruthless torture had left each body marred beyond recognition, their twisted expressions frozen in agony. The once vibrant island, known for its lush fruits and bustling markets, was now a slaughterhouse under the iron grip of the World Government and Marines.

And yet, the massacre was far from over.

A Cipher Pol agent, his black trench coat stained with blood and dirt, stood atop the remains of a broken fountain in the center of the square. His gloved hand gripped a blood-spattered megaphone as he surveyed the scene with cold indifference.

Bodies were dragged away and dumped in heaps, their existence erased, while fresh victims were paraded in chains toward the execution grounds.

"We know there are still those among you who have been involved," the agent's voice boomed through the megaphone, echoing across the hollow streets. He threw aside a severed head with a careless flick of his wrist, its lifeless eyes staring into the abyss as it rolled to a stop near a pool of congealed blood.

"Until the last of you is found, this hunt will not cease. The longer we stay on this island, the worse it will get. So, unless you want to share the same fate, it would be wise to give us the names of those responsible!"

His voice was met with fearful silence from those watching from the cracked windows of their homes. The people of the island had been cowed into submission, hiding behind their crumbling walls, praying that they wouldn't be next.

But it was no use. The Cipher Pol agents were relentless. They were not here for justice—they were here to send a message, to turn this island into an example for every corner of the Grand Line to see.

From the alleyways, terrified civilians began to whisper among themselves, their eyes darting nervously toward the Marines patrolling the streets, swords and rifles at the ready. The slightest hint of defiance would mean death, and the people knew it. Desperation settled in as neighbors turned on neighbors, families against friends.

It wasn't long before the snitching began. Fear had a way of breaking even the strongest bonds. Names were whispered to the agents in secret, thrown out like offerings to appease the beast.

"I saw them talking to those men at the tavern," one man muttered, trembling, his face pale with dread. He pointed toward a neighbor's house, his voice cracking under the weight of betrayal.

"They were laughing about the Marine patrol. Please, I swear I had nothing to do with it!"

"Take him," a Marine barked, pointing to the man's neighbor without a second thought. His pleas for innocence were drowned out by the sound of chains tightening around his wrists as he was dragged off to join the others awaiting their fate.

The island, once a thriving community, was quickly unraveling into chaos. The Cipher Pol agents showed no mercy, their brutality knowing no limits. Entire families were wiped out, their homes burned to the ground as an example to anyone foolish enough to harbor dissenters.

Townspeople were hanged in the streets, their bodies left to rot under the sun as a grim reminder of what defiance brought.

And it wasn't just this island. Across the Grand Line, the wrath of the World Government was unleashed in full force. Any island or kingdom suspected of killing and claiming the bounty placed on Marines faced the same fate. The underworld laid bare all the information so as to not face the World Government's wrath.

Whole towns were razed, reduced to ashes as the might of the Marines descended upon them with unrelenting fury. Pirates who once freely roamed the seas dared not make port on these cursed lands, knowing that even their fearsome reputations would not protect them from the vengeance of the World Government.

One island had been entirely set ablaze, its shores illuminated by the roaring flames as Cipher Pol agents and Marines swept through every nook and cranny, rooting out anyone who dared speak of the bounties.

Civilians fled in terror, but there was nowhere to hide. The hunt was merciless, and the penalty for silence was as severe as any crime. Mothers wept over the bodies of their children, innocent lives caught in the crossfire of a government gone mad with rage.

Even pirates, who had long believed themselves untouchable, shuddered at the thought of crossing paths with the Marines in these dark days. The mighty armada of the World Government spread across the seas like a plague, their banners flying high as they enforced their bloody retribution.

Pirate crews that had once terrorized the Grand Line found themselves hunted down with the same ruthless efficiency, their ships sunk, their members slaughtered without hesitation.

The message was clear: the World Government would brook no defiance. Their authority, which had reigned for over eight centuries, was now reaffirmed with terrifying force. The world had forgotten just how far their reach extended, just how devastating their wrath could be when challenged. Now, with the blood of innocents staining the soil of countless islands, the world remembered.

This wasn't just about the Marines or the heads that had been taken for bounty. This was about reasserting dominance, reminding the seas that no one—not pirates, not civilians, not even kings—could challenge the might of the World Government and live to tell the tale.

*****

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