"Hahaha!"
Bang!
Alvida, one hand on her barrel-sized waist and the other holding a smoking flintlock pistol, laughed triumphantly.
> "Fish-Men are nothing but flesh and blood! What's there to be afraid of?!"
The pirates were stunned for a moment, but seeing their captain blast the intruder's head apart filled them with glee.
That's right — who cared how the Fish-Man got behind them? What mattered was that he was dead now.
They were about to cheer — when something horrifying began to unfold.
A cold chuckle echoed across the deck.
Davy Jones, whose skull had been blown apart, began to regenerate. Slowly, grotesquely, the pieces of flesh slithered and knit themselves back together like thread being pulled through a needle.
The slimy tentacles beneath his octopus-like head twitched as he mocked:
> "Not bad... but I'm afraid bullets don't work on me."
A wave of terror surged through the crew.
In all their years raiding across the East Blue, they'd never seen anyone survive a headshot — let alone remain standing, speaking, and regenerating in full view.
Captain Alvida's mind was reeling.
Could he be… a Devil Fruit user?
Before anyone could dwell further on the thought, Davy Jones vanished — disappearing in a blink, reappearing right in front of Alvida.
> "Aah!" Alvida yelped, stumbling backward in shock.
Jones's tentacle lashed out, snatching the pistol from her hand. He held it up, examining the still-hot barrel with interest.
He frowned slightly as he turned it over.
> I've never seen a design like this... In my world, there were no such flintlocks. That settles it — I'm definitely in another world now.
Alvida scrambled to the mast, shaken.
But when she looked back, she saw her crew — cowering behind her.
> "What are you all waiting for? Kill him!" she roared, outraged.
Her voice snapped them into motion. Slowly, nervously, the pirates moved in, surrounding Davy Jones from all directions.
By now, Jones's head had completely healed — not a crack, not a blemish remained. He looked exactly as he had moments ago.
The pirates were rattled by his grotesque regenerative power, but they gritted their teeth.
> If we hack him to pieces, there's no way he can regenerate from that… right?
As for the stolen pistol, they weren't too worried — it was a single-shot weapon, slow to reload, and Jones had neither bullets nor time to spare.
They exchanged glances and charged as one, bellowing to throw him off.
But they had no idea who they were up against.
Davy Jones had fought countless battles across the seas — against cunning pirate kings, elite naval fleets, and savage sea monsters of the deep. Compared to those life-or-death duels, this rabble was nothing.
He raised one foot and kicked a pirate clean off the deck, sending him crashing into a pile of barrels with a sickening crunch — his spine likely broken.
Another pirate slashed at him, the blade striking his back — but instead of cutting clean, it sank into his body like it had hit mud.
Unbothered, Jones turned calmly, and with a snip of his crab-claw left hand, decapitated the man. Blood sprayed from the neck like a fountain.
His tentacle right arm coiled around, yanking the embedded blade free from his back — which he then used to carve through more pirates.
His fighting style was horrifying — so fluid and alien that even these seasoned killers turned pale at the sight.
All of Alvida's boasts crumbled in the face of this monster.
He was not mere flesh and blood. He was something else.
The storm raged around them — lightning flashing, thunder roaring — yet Davy Jones stood rooted to the deck, unmoving, unshakable.
As the ship tossed and rocked, he remained balanced, while the pirates staggered. One by one, he cut them down — the stolen blade finally chipping from overuse. He tossed it aside.
In mere moments, half the crew had fallen.
The rest, paralyzed with fear.
And then, Koby, who had long been frozen in terror, finally screamed the words he'd been choking back:
> "He's Vander Decken! That ship is the Flying Dutchman! The legend is real!"
The surviving pirates gasped.
They remembered Koby's eerie tale from earlier — the tale they'd laughed at. The crumbling ghost ship, the monstrous captain… it all matched.
> He's Vander Decken? He's here to drag us all to the depths?!
Fear rippled through them like wildfire.
Davy Jones's eyes flicked toward Koby at the mention of the Flying Dutchman, startling the boy into a panicked retreat.
> The Flying Dutchman… exists here?
Jones's mind raced. That must be where the missing powers — his own and Calypso's — had gone.
If he found the Dutchman… he could reclaim his title as the Dread Lord of the Deep. He might even reach godhood.
Suddenly — whoosh!
A roar of wind behind him.
Jones instinctively dodged. He turned to see Alvida, both hands gripping her massive spiked club, eyes filled with fury.
Whoosh—
Without emotion, Jones extended a tentacle from his sleeve, launching it toward her.
Alvida swung her club in a panic — but the tentacle snatched it away, snapping it in two with a loud crack, then tossing the pieces aside.
Weaponless, Alvida's hands trembled.
Davy Jones's invulnerability had broken them all.
Then came a groaning creak — screeech…
The ghost ship drifted alongside them, its broken hull now merging with theirs.
Before anyone could react, their pirate ship began to disintegrate — every plank of wood peeling away and flying into the ghost ship's body, patching its wounds.
Creeeaak—
In stunned silence, the pirates watched as their ship vanished before their eyes, consumed like a sacrifice.
Splash! Splash!
One by one, the pirates plunged into the sea — helpless, screaming, swallowed by waves.
Davy Jones stood still, raising a tentacle to snatch the only two still shrieking — Alvida and Koby — and leapt back to the deck of the Terror Ghost.
He dumped them unceremoniously onto the soaked boards, then walked to the rail, staring down at the ocean.
There was no need to finish the others off.
In the middle of the vast, unforgiving sea, with no wood to cling to, they would tire… sink… and drown in despair.
He harvested their fear — rich and full — and received the highest grade: "Bone-Chilling."
Davy Jones funneled half of that fear into the Terror Ghost, awakening it further.
Cannons emerged from the hull like living limbs, their icy barrels turning toward the sea. When not in use, they would sink back into the ship, vanishing completely.
The ship's speed increased, responding to its master's will.
The other half of the fear was absorbed by Jones himself.
Now, his right hand could extend two tentacles at once. His regeneration had also sped up.
Even the flintlock pistol he'd taken from Alvida could now be reloaded — using condensed fear to form a bullet. Each shot would require a moment to recharge, but as long as others feared him, he would never run out of ammo.
This was the harvest of his first hunt.
He turned, now facing the two trembling captives — Alvida and Koby — who dared not even look him in the eye.
Then, Koby suddenly collapsed to his knees, forehead smashing against the deck as he cried out:
> "Captain Vander Decken! Please spare me! I wasn't with them! I didn't do anything!"
Alvida narrowed her eyes in disgust — but seeing the slaughtered remains of her crew, she hesitated.
A moment later, she too dropped to her knees, lowering her head and grating out in her gravelly voice:
> "Captain Vander Decken… I submit to you. Please… just let me live."