The air on Kuraigana, usually thick with silent gloom, was now a cacophony of nightmare. The chittering, buzzing shrieks of the insectoid humanoids echoed off the glassy rock faces, a sound that drilled into the skull. From the gaping hole Ember had blown in the lab wall, a relentless tide of chitinous horrors poured forth, meeting the fierce, intelligent resistance of the island's native Humandrills. The simian warriors fought with grim determination, their stolen weapons clashing against hardened carapace and scything limbs in a brutal, chaotic melee that spilled across the scarred landscape.
Inside the lab, the scene was a controlled slice of hell. The floor was slick with viscous, emerald-green blood and littered with dismembered insectoid parts that still twitched and spasmed. Aurélie was an unmovable bulwark in front of the main console, a whirlwind of silver hair and a black blade that moved faster than the eye could follow. Anathema hummed, shearing through legs, wings, and torsos with grim finality, creating a protective half-circle around Bianca and Charlie. Each precise strike was accompanied by the wet crunch of chitin and the hiss of alien blood vaporizing on the superheated blade.
Behind her, Bianca was elbows-deep in the console's guts, her face a mask of frantic concentration and smeared grease. "The flux inverter is cross-wired to the primary manifold! It's like they wanted it to blow! Who designed this?!" she yelled, yanking a handful of crystalline wiring.
Charlie, meanwhile, was frantically thumbing through the ancient notebook, dodging a stray splatter of green gore. "The notes indicate a tertiary bypass on page forty-seven! Perhaps if we—"
"Like, I don't have page forty-seven! I have a plasma conduit about to go critical!" Bianca shot back, her hands never stopping.
Outside the hole, the sounds of Ember's joyful cackling and Perona's frustrated shrieks added to the din. "Get back here, you little pyro-freak! That one's too big! Use a bigger boom!" Perona yelled, her Negative Hollows passing uselessly through the emotionless insects.
Mihawk's voice cut through the buzzing bedlam like a cleaver. He stood near the unstable rift itself, Yoru moving in casual, devastating arcs that carved entire swathes of the swarm into nothing. Each swing sent a pressurized wave of air that ripped through the invaders. "Engineers! An update," he demanded, his tone chillingly calm.
Bianca didn't look up. "Like, working on it! This tech is pointlessly complicated! Who puts the energy monitoring systems three consoles away from the damn compositor? It makes no sense!"
Aurélie lunged, intercepting a flying creature that had broken through Mihawk's guard, her blade taking its head off mid-air. "Stay calm and focus," she instructed, her voice steady despite the exertion.
Mihawk actually smirked, beheading a scorpion-like creature with a flick of his wrist. "The fail-safe," Charlie called out, finding his page. "The text says there was a fail-safe put in place! We just need to initiate a controlled energy reversal through the main—"
Bianca interrupted him, her voice rising in exasperated fury. "Charlie! If the fail-safe actually worked, do you think this entire island would be a swirly, melted ruin right now?!"
The question hung in the air for a second, so blunt and logical it was absurd. Everyone—Kuro, Souta, even Aurélie—paused mid-motion. Mihawk threw his head back and laughed, a short, sharp, genuine sound of amusement that was more terrifying than any battle cry. "A fair point!" he boomed.
Their attention was violently yanked back to the rift. A new, deeper vibration began to shake the lab, a rhythmic THOOM… THOOM… that felt like the footsteps of a giant. Dust rained from the ceiling.
Charlie swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Um… what do you think that could be?"
Bianca blinked, her hands freezing on the wiring, her blood running cold.
Aurélie didn't hesitate. "We will deal with what comes. Get that rift closed!" She moved from the console, planting herself directly in front of the shimmering dimensional tear, Anathema held ready.
Mihawk's smirk returned, a predator's grin. He stepped to her side, Yoru resting on his shoulder. Kuro and Souta converged without a word, forming a formidable front line before the unstable portal. The Syndicate strategist, the ink-shadow assassin, the world's greatest swordsman, the unlikely guardians stood united against the unknown.
A massive, spear-tipped leg, thicker than a tree trunk and covered in coarse black bristles, thrust through the rift. Then another. They pushed against the edges of the tear, straining, stretching it wider with a sound of tearing reality. A nightmarish head followed, all compound eyes and crushing mandibles, letting out a bass-frequency shriek that made their teeth ache.
Kuro adjusted his spectacles, his Cat Claws dripping ichor, "This is about to get messy."
Mihawk's grin widened. "Just getting warmed up."
The creature forced its colossal, segmented body through. As it stood upright in the lab, its head and thorax smashed through the ancient ceiling. Chunks of stone and metal rained down, forcing the defenders to dodge as well as fight.
With a single, contemptuous horizontal swing, Mihawk unleashed a flying slash. The air itself seemed to fracture. The massive insectoid was cleanly bisected at the abdomen, its upper half crashing to the floor while its legs crumpled. But the victory was short-lived. The display of power seemed to be a signal. More creatures began forcing their way through, some even larger, some smaller and faster, a never-ending tide of evolutionary horrors.
Then something new emerged. It had the lower body of a gigantic spider, eight multi-jointed legs skittering on the stone, but the torso of a muscular, humanoid insect, with four arms ending in razor-sharp talons. Its face was a nightmare of clustered eyes and dripping fangs.
Bianca stared, her engineering mind unable to process the biological atrocity. "Like," she breathed, her voice a mix of terror and awe, "what the hell kind of reality is this?!" The question echoed in the chaos, a perfect summary of the apocalyptic madness they had unleashed. The front line braced themselves as the spider-humanoid hybrid charged, its screech joining the symphony of the invasion.
*****
The quiet truce held for days, settling over Drum Castle like a blanket of fresh snow. The howling blizzard had passed, leaving behind a world of brilliant, silent white. Vista and Haruta, after determining that Marya showed no immediate signs of flight and that their primary mission was to resupply, had reluctantly returned to their ships. They left two of their most patient crewmen stationed at the castle's main entrance with strict orders: observe, and if the woman in the black coat tried to leave, detain her—or, more realistically, signal for immediate backup.
In the medical chamber, a new rhythm had been established. Dr. Kureha, impressed by Natalie's skill and unflappable demeanor, had gruffly announced she was taking the younger woman under her wing for the duration of her stay. Natalie had accepted with a gracious, bright-eyed enthusiasm, diving into the island's unique herbal lore with the hunger of a true scholar.
On this particular morning, the room was bathed in the weak, clear light filtering through the high windows. Natalie was carefully injecting a syringe of golden-hued medicine into Atlas's IV line when his eyes—sapphire blue with slit pupils—fluttered open. He blinked slowly, his vision swimming as he tried to place the unfamiliar face leaning over him.
His head lolled to the side. In the corner, Marya was sitting on the floor, the soft, rhythmic shhh-shhh of a whetstone gliding along the edge of Eternal Eclipse the only sign of her activity. Galit was nearby, his long neck bent over his tactical slate, his stylus moving in quick, sure strokes.
From the hallway came the sound of Chessa's giggles and the happy, bouncing bloops of Jelly playing some incomprehensible game.
Atlas's voice was a dry, hoarse croak. "Where… are we? And how…?"
The sound made everyone still. Natalie looked down, her face breaking into a warm, relieved smile. Marya and Galit's heads snapped up from their tasks.
Galit was the first to speak, a dry smirk on his lips. "Well, look who's decided to join the living. That's the longest beauty nap in recorded history, furball."
Atlas's groggy expression sharpened into a familiar scowl. "No amount of rest can help your ugly mug, Noodle Neck," he rasped.
Galit's eyes narrowed, ready with a retort, but Natalie cut him off gently. "You're on Drum Island," she explained, her voice calm and professional.
Atlas placed a heavy hand on his forehead, wincing. "What? We were on…"
"Fishman Island," Marya finished for him, not looking up from her blade. "And you passed out. You had an operation, and then we brought you here to treat the toxin left in your system."
Atlas groaned, pushing himself up on his elbows against the pillows. The movement was sluggish, his muscles protesting. His eyes found Marya, and he started to form a question. "Did…?"
Marya shook her head once, a sharp, silent command.
Atlas's gaze flicked to Natalie, understanding dawning. "I know it's a secret," Natalie grumbled. Atlas head swiveled between the two of them. "She doesn't want me to know because she knows I'll give her a long lecture and fuss at her." He furrowed his brow, the casualness of the comment feeling both right and strangely disorienting in his addled state.
Marya finally sheathed her sword with a soft click. "Natalie and I are…"
The door burst open with enough force to slam against the stone wall. Dr. Kureha stood there, her hands on her hips. "Ah! I see the patient is finally awake!"
Natalie opened her mouth to give a quick medical update, but Kureha strode forward and planted a finger in the middle of Atlas's forehead. "I concur with your assessment, Doctor," she declared. Then, with a strength that defied her age, she gave his forehead a sharp, surprisingly powerful pluck.
Thwop.
Atlas was flung backward into the mattress with a grunt of surprise.
"The patient is recovering but still needs bed rest!" Kureha announced to the room. "And he probably needs something to eat."
As if on cue, Riggs fumbled into the doorway, a half-eaten rice ball clutched in his hand, crumbs dusting his shirt.
"Ah, perfect timing!" Kureha boomed. "Boy, if you haven't eaten everything in the kitchen, go and fetch the patient some broth and rice."
Riggs stood there, dumbfounded, chewing slowly.
Natalie sighed, shaking her head with a fond smile. "I will fetch it for him. Riggs, come help me." She gently guided the confused swordsman back out the door.
Dr. Kureha chuckled, then turned her sharp gaze on Marya and Galit. "I suspect you will be plotting your escape."
Marya lifted a single, cool brow.
Kureha's chuckle deepened. "He needs one more day in that bed before he can overexert himself." She paused at the doorway. "Now, let's discuss my fee."
A faint smirk touched Marya's lips. "I have berries."
"It will take more than berries," Kureha retorted, her eyes glinting.
Marya cocked her head in a gesture of playful challenge. "You will take the berries," she said, her voice light but carrying an iron thread, "or I will level this castle."
Kureha threw her head back and laughed, a full, rasping sound that filled the room. "Your old man said the same thing!" she cackled, and then she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her.
Galit let out a low breath. "She is quite eccentric."
"That is one way to describe it," Marya replied dryly.
Atlas pushed himself up again, rubbing the spot on his forehead. "What's the plan?"
"There are two guards at the main entrance," Galit informed him, tapping his slate.
"They are easy to manage," Marya stated.
"And the Commanders?" Galit asked.
Marya's smirk returned. "I think we can take them."
Atlas looked between them, utterly lost. "Guards? Commanders?"
"A lot happened while you were incapacitated," Galit said simply.
Marya looked at her first mate. "Do you have the coordinates calculated?"
Galit nodded. "Locked in."
"Where are we going?" Atlas asked, a spark of his old energy returning.
"We are running out of funds," Marya said, as if stating a simple, inconvenient fact. "So we need to stop and restock."
A wide, predatory grin spread across Atlas's face. "I'll work on my poker face."
The door opened again, and Natalie returned with a tray bearing a steaming bowl of broth. "You all done scheming?" she asked, her tone gently teasing.
Marya accepted the tray from her. "For now."
Natalie nodded, satisfied. "Good. Because the patient needs to eat."
Just then, Jelly came bouncing into the room with Chessa right behind him. He launched himself toward the bed with a happy, wobbly cry.
"Fuzzy Friend finally awake! Bloop!"
The main entrance hall of Drum Castle was a cavernous space, perpetually chilled by drafts that whistled through ancient stonework. Two of Vista's crewmen, their Whitebeard insignias prominent on their jackets, stood vigil by the massive doors, their breath pluming in the cold air. The rhythmic clink of their armored gloves adjusting on their weapon hilts was the only sound until footsteps echoed on the flagstones.
Dr. Kureha strode past them, her manner as sharp and imposing as the mountain itself. She was intercepted by the heavier tread of King Dalton, his brow furrowed with the weight of the secrets he now carried.
"Ah, Dr. Kureha," Dalton began, his deep voice cutting through the quiet. "How is the patient?"
Kureha didn't break her stride, only flicked her eyes toward him. "He has finally woken up."
Dalton nodded slowly, a mix of relief and fresh anxiety tightening his features. "I see."
One of the guards, hearing this, immediately reached into his coat and pulled out a transponder snail. Its eyes drooped sleepily until he began to dial. After a moment, it perked up, its face morphing into a stern, mustachioed impression of Vista. The guard spoke into the receiver, his voice a low murmur that bounced off the stone walls. "The Mink is awake, Commander."
A pause. The snail's expression shifted, its eyes narrowing. The guard listened, then looked up at Dr. Kureha. "The Commander wants to know if the patient can be moved."
Kureha stopped and turned, fixing the guard with a look that could freeze magma. "That," she stated, her raspy voice leaving no room for argument, "falls under doctor-patient confidentiality. Tell your commander to mind his own business." With that, she sniffed and continued her march deeper into the castle, Dalton falling into step beside her, leaving the flustered guard to stammer a reply into the snail.
Once they were out of earshot, Dalton leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble. "You think it will be soon, then?"
A dry, cackling laugh escaped Kureha. "I think it will be tomorrow. They're not the type to lounge about once the wind's back in their sails."
Dalton studied her profile, a dawning realization in his eyes. "You're helping them."
Dr. Kureha didn't deny it. She simply stopped before a side door that led toward the castle's living quarters and looked at him, a mischievous glint in her sharp eyes. "Care to join me for a drink, your majesty? I've a bottle of something that'll put hair on your chest. Or more of it, anyway." The invitation was an answer in itself, a shared moment of understanding between two guardians of Drum Island's future—and its hidden past.
The castle's kitchen was a warm, chaotic haven against the mountain's eternal chill. The air hung thick with the rich, savory scent of simmering bone broth and the sweeter, comforting aroma of freshly baked bread. Pots and pans cluttered every surface, evidence of recent culinary efforts. In the midst of it all, Riggs was perched on a stool, enthusiastically stuffing his face with a meat pastry, flakes of crust dusting his shirt like snow.
Natalie stood at the large iron stove, her back to the room as she stirred a large pot with a wooden spoon, her movements steady and practiced. The comfortable silence was broken by the soft click of the kitchen door.
Marya entered, her black coat a stark contrast to the warm, earthy tones of the kitchen. She moved with her usual quiet purpose, heading straight for the icebox.
Without turning from her pot, Natalie spoke, her voice softer than the bubbling broth. "So. I suppose this is goodbye."
Marya froze, her hand hovering on the icebox's latch. She glanced over her shoulder at Natalie's back. "Time is a luxury I do not have."
Riggs, chewing loudly, looked between them. "You're going somewhere?" he asked, his words muffled by pastry.
They both ignored him completely.
Natalie spun around, her wooden spoon still clutched in her hand. Her gaze locked onto Marya, fierce and pleading. "You shouldn't go! You should—"
Marya cut her off, her tone flat and final. "Like I told you before, they cannot help with this."
Natalie took a step forward, her knuckles white around the spoon. "You know that isn't true! If you would just tell us what's really going on, we could—"
This time, it was Natalie who was cut off. A single tear escaped, tracing a clean path through a faint smudge of flour on her cheek. "The last time I saw you," she said, her voice cracking, "I thought you were going to die." She wiped hastily at the tear with the base of her palm, sniffing. "What happened was… it was tragic, and we were all overwhelmed, but…"
Marya closed the distance between them in two swift steps, her golden eyes intent. "But it changes nothing," she interrupted, her voice low but firm. "Things were said. Choices were made. I will not deviate from my course."
Natalie sniffled, looking down at the spoon in her hand as if she'd forgotten it was there. Her voice was a fragile whisper. "Do you at least miss us?"
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched Marya's lips. She shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe a little." She let the words hang for a beat before adding, her tone lighter, "I don't miss your cooking, though."
Natalie's head snapped up, her momentary sadness vaporizing into pure, unadulterated indignation. "My cooking is excellent!" she spluttered.
Marya's smirk widened. She saw the attack coming a second before the rolled-up kitchen towel left Natalie's hand. With a fluid duck, she avoided the projectile, which smacked harmlessly against the icebox behind her.
"I think your aim is getting better!" Marya called out as she pushed through the kitchen door and disappeared into the hallway, leaving a fuming Natalie and a thoroughly confused Riggs in her wake.
From a shadowy corner of the large kitchen, partially concealed by a hanging rack of dried herbs, a low chuckle echoed. Dr. Kureha took a long, gulping drink from a dark green bottle of wine. Beside her, seated at a small table, Dalton smirked into his own glass of deep red wine.
"Is it wrong of me," Dalton mused, his voice a low rumble, "to hope they get off this island without any more trouble tomorrow?"
Dr. Kureha sighed, a sound of fond exasperation, and placed her bottle on the table with a soft thud. "The folly of youth," she rasped, shaking her head. "Always so much drama. Pass the bottle." The two guardians of Drum Island shared a look of weary understanding, the quiet clink of glass on glass a toast to the tempestuous, necessary departure of the island's most troublesome guests.