The Logue Town Naval Base stood as an imposing fortress, even though most of its personnel were stationed throughout the city. This wasn't some backwater outpost; it was the strategic gateway between the East Blue and the Grand Line, a position that commanded respect and resources directly from Naval Headquarters. The remaining garrison was made up of elite soldiers whose discipline and training far exceeded anything found in ordinary outposts.
Under normal circumstances, even fighters of Oboro's and Dom's caliber would need considerable time and planning to breach such fortifications. The defensive positions, overlapping fields of fire, and coordinated response protocols represented military engineering at its finest. But Dom's spatial manipulation abilities rendered conventional defenses completely meaningless. The limitations of distance and coordinates that governed his portal creation mattered little when the target was right in front of them.
The first alarm screamed through the night air, its piercing wail cutting through the steady rain as emergency lights bathed the base in a harsh crimson glow. Soldiers who had been left behind streamed out of the barracks and administration buildings with practiced efficiency, their movements betraying the kind of battle-hardened experience that came from years of service at this crucial post.
Under the storm-darkened sky, gunfire erupted in staccato bursts as muzzle flashes painted the rain-soaked courtyard in brief, violent snapshots of war. The Marines fell with methodical precision, though not with the overwhelming speed one might have expected. The problem was not their individual skill or courage, but their inability to determine where to aim their weapons.
Dom moved through their ranks like liquid death, his Nichirin blade finding vital points with surgical precision before his targets could even process his presence. The combination of limited visibility from the downpour and his preternatural speed created a perfect storm of tactical advantage. By the time nervous fingers found the triggers, the ghostly figure had closed the distance, his weapon drawing crimson arcs through the air as lives ended in whispered gasps.
"First, this damn rain is ruining our sight lines," a sergeant cursed, wiping water from his eyes as he tried to track the elusive assassin.
"Second, the bastard's too fast for standard engagement protocols," his lieutenant replied grimly as he watched another squad member collapse with his throat cut.
But the most devastating factor was Dom's ability to simply vanish from existence whenever the situation became too dangerous. Perimeter tactics designed to trap him in a crossfire became meaningless when he could step through reality itself, emerging from impossible angles to strike before disappearing again like a nightmare made flesh.
This was individual lethality pushed to the absolute limit, a master assassin operating with supernatural advantages against opponents who couldn't adapt fast enough to survive the encounter.
"Get Captain Smoker on the line now!" shouted a branch lieutenant, his face contorted with barely controlled panic as he watched his men die around him.
"Signal coming through now!" came the reply from a communications specialist crouched behind makeshift cover. "He's on his way!"
"Headquarters has been notified as well!"
The Lieutenant's mind raced through the tactical implications of what he had just witnessed. The outside world had focused almost entirely on the legendary exploits of the God Slayer, treating the Cunning Fox as little more than a lucky accomplice. According to intelligence reports, Dom had been a small-time pirate with a modest bounty, serving aboard an unremarkable crew in the more peaceful sectors of the Grand Line. His current price of fifty million berries was believed to be purely associative, guilt by proximity to his infamous partner.
Knovody had expected him to be truly dangerous in his own right.
The combat demonstration unfolding before the lieutenant's eyes shattered that comfortable assumption with brutal efficiency. Whatever had happened to transform this supposedly petty criminal, the results spoke for themselves. Fifty million berries no longer seemed like an excessive reward for political favors, it might even be a conservative estimate.
"Find the other one!" the lieutenant ordered, his voice cracking with tension. "The God Slayer has to be somewhere on this base!"
"Yes, sir!" Soldiers scattered in all directions, temporarily abandoning the losing battle against Dom to search for his even more dangerous companion.
Two criminals had penetrated their defenses, but only one was currently engaged in open combat. The lieutenant had no idea what strategic objective Oboro might be pursuing, but delaying tactics with a single pirate, no matter how skilled, seemed like wishful thinking at best.
Even undermanned, the base still had enough personnel to overwhelm two individuals by sheer numbers. Or so conventional military doctrine suggested.
"Are you the commanding officer of this facility?"
The voice came from directly behind him, calm and conversational despite the chaos erupting throughout the compound. The lieutenant spun around to see a spatial window materialize in the empty air, Dom's scarred features emerging from the impossible portal with predatory satisfaction.
"Son of a bitch," the lieutenant began, reaching for his sidearm.
Cold steel opened his throat before the weapon left its holster, arterial spray painting the wet concrete as his body crumpled to join the growing collection of corpses scattered across the base.
While Dom orchestrated his symphony of destruction in the courtyard, Oboro moved through the administrative sections with the unhurried confidence of someone going about routine business. The corridor behind him told its own story, the bodies of Marines arranged in neat rows, their deaths carried out with such clinical precision that most hadn't even realized they were under attack.
"This should be the place," he murmured, pushing open a heavy door marked with official military designations.
The archive room contained exactly what he'd been looking for: massive intelligence files covering every aspect of East Blue operations. Maps, personnel records, operational plans, criminal profiles, economic reports, the accumulated knowledge that allowed the World Government to maintain control over these supposedly peaceful waters.
More importantly, these files contained information that had never been made public. The kind of strategic intelligence that could turn a hunted fugitive into someone capable of reshaping the balance of power in an entire region.
Oboro selected a promising stack of documents and began reading with scholarly intensity, his enhanced perception allowing him to process information at superhuman speeds. In a matter of minutes, he'd absorbed data that would have taken most analysts hours to digest.
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the building as another search team discovered his general location. Heavy boots on marble floors, the unmistakable rattle of military equipment, urgent voices coordinating their advance.
He glanced carelessly toward the doorway, already calculating the exact moment when their arrival would demand his attention. Then he returned to his research, treating the approaching soldiers as a minor inconvenience rather than a real threat.
Across town, Smoker received the distress call just as he finished subduing the last of the decoy pirates. His normally pristine appearance bore the marks of prolonged combat: disheveled hair, torn uniform, mud splattered across his white coat. The natural advantages of his Devil Fruit had protected him from serious injury, but the enhanced criminals had proven far more resilient than anything he'd encountered in the East Blue.
Even more disturbing was the amount of time they'd taken. What should have been a quick suppression operation had turned into a protracted engagement, eating up precious minutes that his base could not afford to lose.
"Give outsiders power, increase their strength, even change their physical composition?" Smoker muttered, rain streaming down his face as he processed the information he had extracted from his captives.
Under the pressure of his Smoker-based interrogation techniques, the captured pirates had revealed details that defied rational explanation. An unknown ability to enhance human abilities and transform bodies at the cellular level, a power that operated beyond the established boundaries of Devil Fruit classification.
The strategic implications were staggering. If the Godkiller truly intended to establish his own organization in the East Blue, using these enhanced abilities to recruit and empower local criminals, the entire regional power structure would collapse within months. Every small-time pirate crew would line up for a chance at superhuman abilities, creating an army of enhanced criminals that conventional forces couldn't hope to contain.
Smoker's jaw clenched as the full scope of the threat crystallized in his mind. This wasn't just about capturing a notorious fugitive, this was about preventing the East Blue from descending into chaos that would make the Grand Line's violence look tame by comparison.
"I won't let that happen," he growled, revving his motorcycle's engine until the roar drowned out even the storm.
But even as he raced toward his base, a bitter realization gnawed at his mind. He'd been outmaneuvered from the start, drawn away by an elaborate deception while his true targets struck at the heart of his command structure.
Dom's mission was simple: create maximum chaos while diverting attention from Oboro's infiltration. The enhanced pirate threw himself into the task with enthusiasm, his supernatural speed and spatial abilities turning the base's defensive advantages against him.
Meanwhile, Oboro completed his survey of the archives and moved on to his primary objective. Intelligence gathered from captured documents had provided him with detailed blueprints of the facility's layout, including the location of several high-value targets.
The armory stood before him like a treasure vault, its reinforced doors bearing warnings about authorized access and severe penalties for security violations. Rows of weapons lined the walls, rifles, pistols, ammunition, specialized equipment designed to suppress criminal activity throughout the East Blue.
But Oboro's interest lay in an entirely different area. In the deepest basement of the facility, behind additional layers of security, lay the component that would turn this raid from a mere intelligence gathering into a statement that would reverberate throughout East Blue.
The main ammunition depot.
Crates of high-explosive ordnance sat in carefully organized rows, each containing enough destructive potential to level several city blocks. The naval base's strategic importance demanded access to weapons that could handle anything from pirate raids to full-scale military assaults.
"Perfect," Oboro smiled, studying the impressive collection of military-grade explosives.
A few minutes later, the first detonation lit up the night sky like a newborn star. The blast tore through the storm clouds with such intensity that it turned raindrops into steam for miles around, while the shockwave shattered windows throughout Logue City and sent tremors through the earth that registered on seismographs in neighboring kingdoms.
What followed was a cascade of secondary explosions as the chain reaction spread through the base's ammunition stores. Each blast built on the last, creating a symphony of destruction that painted the storm-darkened sky a brilliant orange and red. The Logue Town Naval Base, symbol of the World Government's authority in the East Blue, became a towering inferno visible from ships a hundred miles away.
Smoker saw the flames long before he reached the perimeter of the base.
Black smoke billowed through the rain in defiance of the downpour, while the fires burned with such intensity that they seemed to mock the storm's efforts to extinguish them. The column of destruction rose into the sky like a beacon, announcing to every criminal in the East Blue that the supposedly untouchable sea fortress had fallen.
His pupils narrowed to pinpricks as the full magnitude of the disaster sank in. This wasn't just an attack, this was total annihilation. The tactical and symbolic implications would reverberate throughout the World Government's power structure, possibly triggering reactions all the way to Naval Headquarters.
The base he'd so proudly commanded, the strategic position that had made him one of the most respected officers in the East Blue, had been reduced to burning rubble in the span of a single night.
"Bastard!" Smoker roared, his voice lost in the thunder of the constant explosions.
This result exceeded his worst nightmares by orders of magnitude. No matter how undermanned the facility had been, no matter how dangerous his opponents, the complete destruction of a major naval installation in such a short time should have been impossible.
The soldiers left behind were some of his most experienced personnel. The reinforcements returning from the search should have tipped the balance in their favor. Every tactical calculation suggested that two individuals, no matter how skilled, could not have accomplished something of this magnitude.
Yet the evidence burned before his eyes, painting the night sky with colors that spoke of capabilities far beyond anything the East Blue had ever seen.
As Smoker stared at the destruction of everything he'd worked to build, one thought echoed through his mind with crystal clarity: the God Slayer had just announced his presence in the East Blue in a way that would ensure the entire world took notice.
The game had changed, and the stakes had never been higher.