Dead Ink Sea

The Grand Line, ever unpredictable, never allowed for a moment's rest. Even in the rare moments of calm, there was an undeniable sense of tension, a presence in the air that made the crew of the Corrupted Serpent feel as though they were being watched. As if the sea itself was waiting, lurking, ever eager to swallow them whole.

The ship cut through the waters, the wood groaning under the constant assault of the waves, yet it moved forward with grim purpose. The ocean was not merely violent here—it was alive. The waters were thick, swirling with an unnatural blackness that seemed to swallow light. Ink-black waves rolled endlessly, their sheer size and weight causing the ship to rock with every passing surge. But it wasn't just the waves that unnerved them. Beneath the surface, monstrous shapes shifted and writhed, barely perceptible through the ink-dark water, but always there, always just out of reach.

Sea monsters, ancient and predatory, often emerged from the depths of the Grand Line. Some were so massive they could sink entire fleets with a single sweep of their monstrous fins, others with jaws that could devour ships whole. Yet, none seemed to approach directly—at least, not yet. The tension in the air, like a constant hum, made the crew uneasy. The sky above had turned an ominous shade of gray, and the thunderous roars from the heavens echoed across the ocean like a war drum, announcing an impending disaster. There was no sun to break the monotony of the dark sky, and the wind, sharp and biting, carried a chill in its currents—almost as though it had frozen the very air itself. The scent of saltwater mixed with something otherworldly. It was as if the sea itself had become a living entity, watching them, waiting for something to go wrong.

The stillness of the water felt unnatural. The deep, rhythmic motion of the waves was punctuated by sudden silences, as if the world was holding its breath. A creeping aura of death hung over the water, an ominous sense of doom pressing down on the ship. The crew could feel it in the pit of their stomachs, a sickly pressure that pushed against their very souls. Joshua and Motoa were seated at the far end of the deck, absorbed in their endless game of chess, moving pieces with deliberate slowness. Neither man seemed troubled by the oppressive atmosphere around them. The board in front of them was a battleground in its own right, with each move carried the weight of strategy, of victory and loss. Their hands never shook, even as the air crackled with tension, as though the looming threat of the Grand Line could never break their focus.

Elsewhere on the ship, Nixon leaned against the mast, his gloved fingers trailing across the shaft of his cane, a practiced, almost meditative gesture. His eyes never left the horizon. He wasn't bothered by the oppressive silence of the Grand Line, nor the strange, distant sounds of massive creatures stirring beneath the waves. His focus was always sharp, always calculating. The wind whipped his coat, but it didn't bother him; nothing did. He took a long, contemplative sip from his tea as if the world around him was a mere backdrop to his thoughts. In contrast, Laffitte leaned lazily against the railing, his cane tapping rhythmically against the wooden deck. The ever-present grin on his face remained, though there was a flicker of impatience in his eyes. He glanced toward the Corrupted Serpent's bow, looking out into the black ink of the sea.

Guzen was nowhere to be seen, having slipped away into the lower deck to get some rest, but his presence was still felt—his unpredictable, volatile energy always lingered in the air like an unsettled storm, and for now, the crew respected the silence. Even Enel, who typically hovered like a god, exuded an unsettling stillness, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the sea below. He could feel it too: the eerie sensation that something monstrous was watching, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Then, as if the very sea had chosen that moment to strike back, the first signs of danger appeared—subtle at first, like the slow rising of a shadow beneath the surface. A ripple in the water, faint at first, then growing more pronounced, undulating with a deep, resounding growl that came not from the sky, but from the ocean itself. It was a sound so unnatural that it made the hairs on the back of Joshua's neck stand on end, even as his eyes remained fixed on the chessboard, as if determined to ignore the warning that reverberated in the depths.

Without warning, the water exploded.

A massive creature, nearly twice the size of the ship, surged from the depths. Its great, serpentine body was wrapped in scales like armor, each plate a darker shade of green and black, glistening in the faint light. Its eyes were piercing, glowing with an unnatural malevolence, and its maw opened wide, revealing rows of jagged, razor-sharp teeth that could tear through stone. Its fangs dripped with venom, and a chilling screech pierced the air as it lunged toward the Corrupted Serpent, its body twisting like a living nightmare.

As the beast surged forward, Nixon's sipping on some tea hand moved with unmatched precision. The Chill-Chill Fruit powers rippled around him, and with a flick of his wrist, the air around him seemed to freeze in place, the very essence of the wind hardening into sharp, crystalline ice. In an instant, his cold gaze swept toward the beast, and he extended a finger, snapping it sharply.

The wind around the beast twisted, and the sea monster's body was ripped to shreds.

A storm of ice-shards whistled through the air as Nixon's ability to freeze anything he touched turned deadly, transforming his frozen wind into vicious blades of ice. The creature's body seemed to buckle and splinter under the onslaught of cold, its massive form raking across the ship's hull, but unable to land a blow. The air was thick with the sound of ripping flesh as the ice-shards sliced through the creature's thick scales like butter. In a heartbeat, the monster was reduced to chunks of bloodied meat, falling back into the water in pieces as it was torn apart.

Joshua glanced up from his chessboard, eyes flicking toward the deck and then back to his opponent, Motoa. There was no reaction, not even a flicker of emotion. In the world of the Black Flame Pirates, this was just another day at sea.

"Well, that's that," Motoa mused, his voice still rasping with age. His thin, frail frame remained seated at the table, as though this display of strength didn't faze him in the slightest. He coughed once, then picked up his next chess piece, moving it across the board. "Your move, Captain."

"Right." Joshua's tone was nonchalant, his hand hovering over his own pieces. The Grand Line was nothing if not unpredictable, but they had come to expect these dangers. In fact, Joshua had come to enjoy the routine—a dangerous calm, the feeling that the world itself was testing them, preparing them for greater challenges. He didn't feel fear. He felt alive.

Guzen reappeared on deck just as the remnants of the sea monster sank beneath the waves, drawn by the lingering scent of blood. He smirked, his eyes flashing with barely-contained excitement. "Now that was fun. If there's more where that came from, I'm all in."

"That's the Grand Line for you," Laffitte chimed in, twirling his cane in one hand. "A sea full of monsters and mayhem. Just the kind of place to make our mark."

Enel, still hovering with his arms crossed, nodded slowly, a subtle grin curling at the edges of his lips. "This is nothing. The heavens hold far greater threats than the likes of that. But it was amusing, nonetheless."

As the sea grew still once more, the crew took a collective breath, each member adjusting to the eerie quiet that followed the sudden eruption of violence. Yet the sense of unease remained. It wasn't just the monsters lurking beneath the waves; it was something deeper, something that ran through the very fabric of the Grand Line. Something that told them this was only a taste of what was to come.

The ship continued to sail through the ink-dark waters, the crew moving back into their roles. Laffitte returned to his usual spot by the railing, his eyes scanning the horizon. Nixon walked back to his usual post whilest fixing his tie, and Guzen leaned against the mast, watching the sea with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. Enel floated upward again, his gaze never straying far from the distant horizon. Meanwhile, Joshua and Motoa resumed their game, each move on the chessboard feeling heavier, as though every piece represented not just a battle for supremacy, but a foreboding of things to come.

The Corrupt Serpent sailed on, cutting through the blackened waters of the Grand Line, unaware of the greater storm that awaited them. 

...

Far off in the distance, another ship appeared on the horizon. The sails were tattered, and the vessel looked weathered, but its flag—one unmistakable to anyone who had sailed the Grand Line—fluttered defiantly in the wind. The Black Flame Pirates' flag. The ship cut through the dark waters like a shadow.

A young crewmember aboard the pirate ship—The Crimson Tide—squinted through his binoculars, eyes narrowing as he focused on the distant ship. "Captain... I do... dont know if I'm seeing right but I think... I think that's the Bla.....Black Flame Pirates."

The captain of The Crimson Tide, a 15ft tall and broad-shouldered figure with a scarred face and a dark, menacing aura, stepped forward to take the binoculars. His name was Ronan Alaric, but he goes by his infamous alias— The Storm Reaver. a pirate with a bounty of 120 million berries, known for his brutal tactics and ruthless ambition. His eyes scanned the distance, his brow furrowing as the flag came into view. "It can't be," he muttered under his breath.

The crew, sensing something was amiss, gathered around, waiting for their captain's reaction.

"Captain?" one of the crew members asked, his voice tinged with confusion. "What's wrong? 

"The Black flame pirates, its their ship.... there ship is heading right in our direction," Ronan replied with disbelief of his own eyes as he looked though the binoculars. He can clearly see, Chaos and Motoa playing chess without the sligheset care in the world as if the world around does not exist. The psycopath, the Ice Sorceror placing a napkin around his neck, Laffitte cleaning his cane and Enel sitting on the end of the snake with his eye s closed. All them doing there own thing as if nothing has happened or more rightly should be happening according to him.

"Shouldn't the Black Flame Pirates be fighting the Navy right now? Aren't they supposed to be clashing with the warlord, Crocodile?" The pirates around were all confused by Ronnan answer because logically, the Black Flalme pirates should be facing off with the Buster call sent by the navy and Crococile, one of the seven Warlords of the Sea right now. So how can they be here in Dead Ink Sea currently because that cannot be right.

Ronan's gaze hardened as the crew began to murmur. His hand tightened around the binoculars. "Impossible," he muttered again. "They shouldn't be here." His thoughts raced—if it was true, if the Black Flame Pirates had somehow survived their fight with Crocodile and the Navy, it would be a monumental event. The kind of news that would shake the seas to their very core. The balance of power would be disrupted. Entire fleets would be mobilized. The world would be forced to acknowledge their rise.

"What!"

"Its actually them"

"My god my eyes are not playing with me, its really them, alive and well in the flesh." 

The crew members who picked up a binocular one after the other and looked in the direction Ronan was looking thet were shocked and horrified to see that it was actually the Black Flame pirates but how is this possible.

"Did they... did they actually win?" one of the crew members whispered, his voice barely audible.

The silence that followed spoke volumes. The captain's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing. "Impossible... but if that's true... it's even worse. We can't be seen anywhere near them. Not now. Not after what they've done."

"Not good."

"Turn the ship around!" Ronan who once again was looking through the binoculars heart sank to the bottom of the ocean when he saw Enel looking right at him with cold eyes , his voice was sharp and filled with intense urgency. "We can't afford to make contact. Get us out of here, NOW!"

But before anyone could react, a crack of thunder split the sky. The air seemed to vibrate with energy as lightning crackled through the atmosphere. It was as if the sky itself was reacting to the presence of the Black Flame Pirates, refusing to let them escape. A column of lightning erupted from the clouds, striking the ship with terrifying precision. The blinding light from the strike illuminated the ship in a harsh, radiant flash, the brightness so intense that it seemed to cut through the very heart of the storm.

A voice cut through the chaos—Enel's, distant but unmistakable, dripping with god-like arrogance. "This world is too weak to comprehend my power. I allow you to witness this only as a sign of my mercy."

But before the final explosion of light, there was a moment of desperate realization.

"NO!" Ronan Alaric, the captain of the Crimson Tide, shouted, his voice cracking with fear and disbelief. His grip on the wheel tightened, but it was futile. The bolt was already in the air, and there was nothing he could do. "It's over... It's over!"

Around him, the crew reacted in horror, their faces pale with the cold realization of their doom. One of the pirates, wide-eyed, stumbled back in terror. "Captain! We... we can't escape! We're—"

BOOM!

The supernova of energy erupted around the point of impact. The blast unleashed a cataclysmic shockwave that sent The Crimson Tide careening into oblivion. The crew's screams were drowned out by the roar of the lightning as it consumed them all. A massive hydroelectric shock spread across the ocean, igniting the Black Ink waters, causing them to rise and ripple violently, churning as the sea boiled from the excess energy coursing through it.

The Black Flame Pirates continued their journey, the aftereffects of Enel's wrath sending shockwaves through the ocean and the air. Hundreds of sea monsters, disturbed by the release of energy, were thrown into the air, their bodies vaporized in the explosion of light and force. The rival crew of The Crimson Tide had been wiped from existence in an instant. There was no trace left of them, save for the faint echoes of their screams lost in the storm.

Aboard the Corrupted Serpent, the Black Flame Pirates remained unaware of the chaos they had just caused. Joshua glanced up from his chessboard, his eyes narrowing slightly as he felt a shift in the atmosphere, but he said nothing. Guzen, still chuckling to himself, broke the silence with his usual manic laughter. "The Grand Line always knows who lives and who dies," he said with a grin, his voice tinged with madness. "And it's never who you think it is!"

Joshua didn't respond, his focus still fixed on the game, his mind already moving ahead. The storm raged on around them, but for the Black Flame Pirates, it was just another day on the Grand Line. The Storm Reaver and the crew of The Crimson Tide were no more. The sea had claimed them—just as it had claimed so many others before them.