Chapter-6

From the sidelines, Atlas's single eye narrowed. "How's it going?" He rumbled, his voice a low tremor.

Perospero, his face etched with concern, watched the battle unfold. "Both are pushing themselves to the limit," he admitted. "It's too close to call."

Atlas hummed, a metallic whirring sound. "Blackbeard might seem strong now," He analyzed, "but his durability's less compared to future vision."

Perospero frowned. "Meaning?"

"He's taking heavier hits," Atlas stated, his single eye gleaming with cold calculation. "Katakuri might be worn down, but he knows what's coming. Blackbeard... doesn't."

He was right. Despite Blackbeard's ferocity, each of Katakuri's precognitive strikes chipped away at his defenses. A grunt of pain escaped the pirate captain as a mochi tendril wrapped around his leg, momentarily throwing him off balance.

Seizing the opportunity, Katakuri launched a flurry of attacks, his trident a blur of obsidian lightning. Blackbeard barely parried, the metal claws singing under the strain. His laughter, once booming, now came out ragged, laced with pain.

The clash froze mid-air, Katakuri's trident inches from Blackbeard's throat, claw glinting off obsidian. Silence descended, broken only by the distant storm's rumble. Then, from the periphisy, figures emerged - Whitebeard Pirates, four commanders encircling the battlefield, and at their head, the legendary Whitebeard himself.

Blackbeard, acted surprised momentarily erasing his feral grin, stammered, "Pops, you are finally hise!". He had already observed Whitebeard, so just now acted as if he was losing.

"What is the meaning of this, Teach and Atlas?" Whitebeard boomed, his voice a rolling thunder. His gaze, sharp and assessing, settled on the two combatants.

Blackbeard, ever the opportunist, seized the moment. "Atlas brought them to kill me! Thank the heavens you arrived, pops!" He started edging towards Whitebeard, a desperate hope flickering in his eyes.

Prespero, witnessing the unfolding scene, felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple. This wasn't how things were supposed to go.

Whitebeard's gaze shifted to Atlas, his booming voice echoing. "Is that right, Atlas?"

The hulking figure remained silent, his single eye betraying no emotion.

"I take it as yes," Whitebeard declared, his voice laced with disappointment. He lumbered towards Katakuri, the earth trembling with each step. Katakuri, ever the fighter, instinctively braced himself, trident gripped tight.

But Whitebeard's fist, imbued with the Tremor Tremor Fruit struck Katakuri's head, tremors soared through his being, affecting every inch of his cell, and sent him crashing to the ground with a gasp.

Next, Whitebeard turned towards Atlas, who stood rooted to the spot, being dwarfed by the imposing pirate captain. Prespero instinctively shuffled away, fearing the fallout.

"You betrayed your family," Whitebeard stated, his voice heavy with sorrow.

Atlas, finally finding his voice, replied, "I did it for you."

Whitebeard's weathised face creased in anger. "I would have forgiven you if you tried to kill me," he growled. "But you tried to assassinate your brother."

He raised his hand, the ground trembling beneath his power. But instead of unleashing a devastating attack, he delivered a resounding slap across Atlas's metallic cheek, the Tremor Tremor Fruit resonating through his very being.

Atlas crumpled to the ground, deactivated and silent. Whitebeard gazed down at his with a heavy heart. 

As Atlas's unconscious form lay on the ground, a new life began.

*** 

The ocean heaved outside, grey and unforgiving, mirroring the rage in Atlas's gut. He woke stiff and confused, the stale air of an unfamiliar cabin pressing down on him. Panic clawed at his throat, the word "Papa" escaping his lips in a ragged cry.

He stumbled, limbs heavy with sleep and unease, his hands scraping against rough wood. No familiar warmth of the Moby Dick greeted his touch, only the cold, oppressive silence of the unknown. He clambered up the hatch, the salty wind whipping at his face, but it couldn't clear the fog in his mind.

"Papa!" he bellowed, his voice thin and lost in the vastness of the sea. It bounced back empty, mocking his fear.

A figure emerged from the shadows, tall and gaunt, his face creased in an unpleasant smile. "Atlas," he drawled, his voice like gravel underfoot. "You woke up."

Atlas didn't recognize him, but a sliver of memory flickered through the haze - a fight, a betrayal, the chilling words "Big Mom Pirates." His stomach churned.

"Prespero?" he rasped, the word tasting bitter on his tongue.

The man nodded, his smile widening. "Indeed. Your little escapade with whitebeard earned you a new crew."

Atlas felt the world tilt. This couldn't be happening. He belonged with whitebeard, sailing the free seas. He opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out. The despair, the fear of losing his father, it choked him.

His knees buckled, the deck rushing up to meet him. Darkness claimed him, as he dropped head first onto the wooden deck, unconsious.

*** 

Atlas's eyes snapped open at the familiar cry of "Papa" escaping his lips. But instead of the comforting creak of the Moby Dick, he was met with the unsettling silence of an unfamiliar room. He sat up, wincing at the dull ache in his head, and scanned his surroundings. Walls decorated with eyes and mouths stared back, judging him with their silent scrutiny. Strange, pulsating contraptions whirred and clicked in the corner, their purpose as unknown as his own current predicament.

"Whole Cake Island, I guess?" he muttered, the name leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

"Indeed," chirped a voice. Beside him sat a doctor, but not one he recognized. This doctor was made entirely of candy, his peppermint grin unsettling under his gumdrop eyes. "Big Mom awaits," the doctor continued, the walls mimicking his words in a distorted echo.

Atlas swallowed, the weight of his situation pressing down on him. Big Mom. Betrayal. The words churned in his stomach, leaving an emptiness that even the island's grotesque abundance of sweets couldn't fill.

A parade of dishes materialized around him: mountains of glistening meats, rivers of molten chocolate, and towers of sugar creations so intricate they seemed almost sentient. It was a display of gluttony that would send shivers down even the most dedicated Whitebeard's chef, all orchestrated to entice and appease.

"Big Mom will see you once you've finished," the candy doctor announced, his voice saccharine and cloying.

"Figured as much," Atlas mumbled, staring down at the feast. Each bite felt bitter and tasteless.