The Hell Pirates held the skies, their aerial advantage unmatched. But how would the Navy counter them?
Ohara-Golden Island was massive, its sheer bulk slowing it down. If the Navy had a few fliers—Devil Fruit users who could ferry the three Admirals onto the island—it'd be like dropping three nukes on their turf.
Ohara-Golden Island would be reduced to rubble. Even if the Hell Pirates escaped, their whole mission in the West Blue would be a bust.
Brook knew he had to plan ahead—fast.
Feint east, strike west? Lure the Navy away with the Golden Ark as bait? Scout their positions and steer clear? The trick was pinning down the Navy's real location and strategy. Last time, an Admiral had played dirty, hiding on a Rear Admiral's ship like some glorified stowaway!
Brook smirked, a simpler idea sparking. Pirates, after all, should act like pirates.
As Ohara-Golden Island sailed toward Reverse Mountain, Brook and navigator Shakky pored over a map of the West Blue's islands.
...
"Here we go, Captain Brook! Try my lightning-roasted squab!"
Head chef Streusen swaggered in with a platter piled high with dozens of sizzling squabs, their cumin-spiced, mildly zesty aroma irresistible. Pigeons zapped by lightning, courtesy of Redfield, had never tasted better.
"More? This is the fifth squab feast in two days!" Shakky grinned, snatching one and tearing into it.
"Gotta say, the World Government's peace pigeons make damn fine eats. Wonder how their seagull news birds taste?"
She'd already sampled charcoal, curry, spicy, and sweet-and-sour flavors—every squab a culinary adventure. But eyeing Mortomas' seagull news birds? If he caught wind, he'd chew her out for sure.
"Redfield's been working overtime, zapping all those peace pigeons," Brook chuckled, grabbing a squab. While others fished, Redfield birded. The West Blue, World Government turf, was crawling with peace pigeons—some clearly spying on the Hell Pirates.
Redfield's electromagnetic Observation Haki sniffed them out, and his lightning speed turned them into dinner.
"Yo, Brook, you picked the islands yet? We're almost at Reverse Mountain!"
Shakky, hands greasy, jabbed five oily fingerprints onto the map, then licked her fingers clean. Brook's squab suddenly lost its appeal.
"Could you please mind your manners? You're supposed to be a lady!"
Brook groaned, determined to steer Shakky away from becoming a crude, chain-smoking slob. Her carefree attitude and smoking were bad enough—now she was getting downright messy. He was half-tempted to give her a smack!
"What's with the attitude? Nobody's lining up to marry me, hmph!"
Shakky, defiant, licked the oil off all five fingers, even giving her palm a few swipes. Her squab-eating antics pushed Brook to the edge, his teeth grinding.
Brook, like Redfield, prided himself on elegance. This display was torture. Redfield, unable to stomach it, had already zapped away as a bolt of lightning. Even Linlin's habit of swallowing whole squabs—bones and all—was less offensive.
"Freeze, you little vampire!"
Brook, unable to hold back, flicked his wrist, encasing the hand-licking Shakky in ice. Instant relief washed over him.
...
But these past few days, Brook's "weakness" seemed to show. His usual vibrant blue ice was now a pale, flimsy frost. Shakky shattered it in seconds.
A 200-million-Belly bounty vampire like Shakky wasn't about to be trapped by such a weak freeze.
"Well, well, Brook! While you're down and out, let's see how you handle this!"
Shakky's fangs lengthened, her pupils glowing red. She licked her lips, eyes blazing, and vanished into a blur of shadow.
"Yohohoho! Thinking of mutiny, are we?"
Brook's sly grin betrayed his amusement. He'd been playing "weak" for just two days, and already this kid was getting cocky?
"Kekeke! Can't pass up a chance to bop the captain!"
Shakky's voice echoed from shadowy corners—a perk of her Mythical Zoan Vampire Devil Fruit. She'd developed it nicely.
With a fierce cry, a dozen shadows converged behind Brook, forming Shakky's true self. Her razor-sharp claws slashed at him.
"Getting serious, little vampire?"
Brook sidestepped, dodging her claws with ease, and turned to face a surprisingly focused Shakky.
"Duh! You're a 1.5-billion-Belly pirate! Even banged up, you're no pushover. Didn't you always say to use full strength? You're not mad, right, Captain? Heehee!"
Shakky dissolved into shadows again, her words sparking a laugh from Brook. Using his teachings against him? Cheeky!
Fine, then. Time to show her what a real hunt looked like—time to flip the script!
Brook's pale eyes shifted to a deep, ghostly blue. He lounged back on the sofa, radiating nonchalance. In the shadows, Shakky frowned, pouting. Was he mocking her?
Time to teach this captain a lesson about the nobility of darkness—the power of a Mythical Vampire!
Shakky materialized behind Brook, her speed leaving afterimages. Her claws aimed for his neck, victory in sight.
But Brook didn't budge.
Wait, I can't stop! Shakky panicked, about to yell, "Dodge, you idiot captain!"
Suddenly, her hands froze in ghostly blue ice, locking her in place. Her momentum carried her forward, straight toward Brook's neck.
In a flash, Brook spun, catching Shakky and draping her across his lap. A series of sharp smacks rang out.
"Take that for attacking your captain! That's for your nonsense! And that's for sneaking up on me twice!"
Brook's palm met Shakky's backside with each word. This little vampire thought her injured captain was easy prey? She needed a lesson!
The crew gawked at Brook's "punishment." One by one, they found excuses to slip away, leaving Shakky red-faced and fuming. She wriggled free, clutching her cheeks, and bolted with an embarrassed shout.
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