The northern port of Kutsukku was a battlefield ablaze under a starless sky, the dock a chaotic sprawl of shattered stone, splintered crates, and blood-soaked earth. The air reeked of gunpowder, sea salt, and the metallic tang of blood, the flickering torchlight casting grotesque shadows as the clash of steel and gunfire echoed off the cliffs.
Popeye stood at the heart of the battle, his massive frame tense, his platinum-white hair matted with sweat and blood, his metal-studded gloves creaking as he clenched his fists. His dark eyes darted to Olbap, who crouched behind a bullet-riddled crate, his young face shifting from shock to a cold, calculating stare. Olbap gave a sharp nod, a silent signal to keep fighting, but Popeye's focus snapped back to the monstrous figures before him—a towering red rhinoceros, a minotaur-like black bull, and a man-shark with blade-like fins, their presence radiating death. Barkos, now a massive dog with sandy fur and a gleaming hook-hand, stood beside him, snarling.
"Barkos, I don't know what the hell you all ate, but I'm gonna need your help here!" Popeye shouted, dodging a stray bullet that sparked off the dock, his voice raw over the cacophony of screams and explosions.
Barkos's canine eyes glinted, his muzzle curling into a grin. "Doubt you can handle this power, Popeye. These are Devil Fruits—capable of crushing armies. That's why we split the crew!" He crouched, his claws scraping the stone, ready to lunge.
Brunt, the black bull, snorted, his massive horns gleaming in the torchlight, his axe now small in his monstrous hand. "Enough talk, Popeye. Don't run!" With a speed that belied his size, he charged, his axe swinging in a deadly arc. The blade slammed into the pier, not just raising dust but tearing up chunks of earth and stone, the impact sending a shockwave that knocked Popeye off balance. He rolled, barely dodging, his boots crunching on debris as he deflected flying rocks with his bracers, the clangs ringing out. Gritting his teeth, he lunged, his fist crashing into Bront's chest. The bull didn't flinch, absorbing the blow with a guttural laugh.
"Your punches are losing their sting, boy!" Brunt sneered, his bovine face twisted into a mocking grin. He lashed out with a hoofed kick, the force sending Popeye skidding across the dock, his boots screeching, blood trickling from a fresh cut on his arm.
Barkos, meanwhile, was cornered by Rogar and Drax. Rogar, the red rhinoceros, charged with relentless force, his massive horn lowered, his hooves shaking the pier with every step. Drax, the man-shark, darted in his wake, his curved daggers and fin-blades slicing through the air, his tail lashing like a whip.
Barkos's canine form was agile, his hook parrying Drax's daggers with sparks flying, but Rogar's bulk left no room to maneuver. Each time Barkos clashed with Drax, Rogar barreled in from behind, forcing Barkos to twist and dodge, his fur matted with blood from shallow cuts. Damn it, Barkos thought, his mind flashing to their days as crewmates. Drax was my brother-in-arms, always at my side—until these cursed fruits. The four Devil Fruits they'd stolen had shattered their bond, each wanting to be captain, sparking a decade-long war on Kutsukku to prove who was worthy.
"I spent every beli I had on this Red Tide to build a ship and sail again," Barkos growled, his voice a low snarl as he ducked Drax's tail. "But you bastards always ruin my plans!" He charged Rogar, leaping onto the rhino's back, his jaws clamping onto thick, red-brown hide. His claws dug in, blood welling as he bit harder, holding on as Rogar roared, smashing through crates and barrels in a frenzy to shake him off. The dock shuddered, wood splintering, torches toppling, their flames igniting spilled oil and sending plumes of fire into the night.
Drax seized the moment, sprinting behind Rogar, his fin-blades flashing. A clean slash caught Barkos's side, blood spraying as Barkos howled, forced to release his grip to avoid another cut. Rogar spun, his horn lowered, and charged, slamming into Barkos with bone-crushing force. The dog-man flew, crashing into a pile of crates, the wood exploding into shards, his body leaving a dent in the stone below. Blood dripped from his fur, his hook-hand trembling as he struggled to rise.
Popeye wasn't faring better. Brunt's axe caught him across the chest, the blade slicing through his shirt, leaving a deep gash that bled freely. Pain seared through him, but he gritted his teeth, his fists still raised. I'm stronger the longer I fight, he thought, adrenaline surging, but the damage was piling up. Old wounds from the cliff fight throbbed, and Brunt's injuries seemed to heal unnaturally fast, his Devil Fruit knitting his flesh. Barkos was faltering, unable to handle both Rogar and Drax, and Popeye knew if Barkos fell, he'd be next.
"Popeye, join me!" Brunt called, resting his axe on the ground, his bovine eyes gleaming. "You're a damn good fighter—would make a hell of a sparring partner."
"Never," Popeye spat, tearing off his shredded vest, his blood-streaked hair flung back. "I'm not done yet!" Blood dripped from his brow, his lips swollen, bruises blooming across his body, but his grin was unbroken.
"Shame," Brunt said, lifting his axe. "The cargo's mine." He charged, and Popeye met him head-on, abandoning weapons for raw fists. Blow after blow landed, Popeye's punches a blur, each impact a thunderclap that shook the air. Brunt fought back, his hooves and fists hammering Popeye, but the younger man's raw talent shone through. Despite his inexperience compared to Brunt's years on the seas, Popeye's strikes grew sharper, more precise, each punch landing harder. Brunt grunted, pain flickering in his eyes as a fist cracked his jaw, blood spraying. But Popeye was taking damage too—his vision blurred, blood streamed from his brow, and his strength waned with every blow he absorbed.
A deafening crash halted the fight. All eyes turned to Barkos, now in his hybrid dog-man form, pinned by Drax. The shark-man's tail was wrapped around Barkos's throat, choking him, while his daggers were buried in Barkos's hands, pinning them to the ground. Blood pooled beneath, Barkos's eyes dimming as he gasped.
The message was clear: Barkos was done, maybe dead. Popeye's heart sank. Even with that power, he couldn't outlast me. He was weak, with that power in my hands, this old bull would surely not beat me.— I was strong, but against these monsters, he was outmatched. This might be it.
"One down," Brunt said, gripping his axe, his voice a low rumble. "Just Drax, Rogar, and you, Popeye. But you're the real threat—potential like yours could've beaten me if I didn't have this fruit and years on the seas."
"Any last words?" Drax hissed, approaching, licking Barkos's blood from his daggers, his shark-like eyes glinting.
"How do you transform?" Popeye asked, his voice steady despite the pain. He didn't care about dying—if his death bought Olbap time to escape, it was worth it. But he needed to know, to understand the power that had turned this fight into a beast fight.
Drax laughed, a guttural sound. "You don't know about Devil Fruits? Since you're about to die, I'll humor you. They're the sea devil's incarnations—eat one, and you gain its power until death. Mine turns me into a gray shark, Brunt's a black bull. We can shift between hybrid and full forms, like Rogar's rhino." He gestured to Rogar, whose massive horn gleamed, his hooves pawing the ground.
"Sounds fun," Popeye said, forcing a grin. "Any downsides? Wish I'd gotten one."
"Near impossible to find in the Blues—most call them myths," Brunt said, stepping closer, his axe raised. "We found ours in the Grand Line before washing up here. The catch? The sea rejects you—eat a fruit, and you can't swim. Fall in, you drown."
"Thanks for the lesson," Popeye said, dropping into a fighting stance, his fists raised despite the blood dripping from his wounds. "But I'm not dying yet."
With Olbap
Olbap watched from behind his crate, his Mosquete gripped tightly, his mind racing as Barkos fell. Three against one now—Popeye can't win. The realization hit hard: they were outmatched, and escape was their only option.
He signaled his crew, who scrambled to prepare the ship's cannon, aiming it at the battlefield where Popeye fought. Others raised the sails and anchor, ready to flee. The baby Den Den Mushi in Olbap's hand crackled to life, transmitting Popeye's conversation with Drax and Bront. Olbap's lips curled into a rare smile—Popeye, you clever bastard. The weakness was clear: the sea. Those Devil Fruit users couldn't swim.
Olbap acted fast, ordering the ship to pull back from the dock, far enough that anyone chasing would have to enter the water. The cannon was loaded, ready to blast anyone who got too close. He grabbed the baby Den Den Mushi, his voice urgent. "Popeye, great work getting that intel. Fight as long as you can, then run to the ship in open water. Jump in—they can't follow. We'll cover you with the cannon."
Popeye, battered and bleeding, heard the message through the snail's crackle. He nodded, his grin fierce despite the pain. Time to learn as much as I can. He fought on, not just to survive but to grow stronger, to become the fists Olbap needed. He saved me from starving—my job's to be his strength. Every punch he threw, every blow he took, was a lesson. These monsters were leagues above him, but he'd use this fight to prepare for the next. A tail swipe from Drax caught his side, blood spraying, followed by Rogar's horn goring his chest, sending him crashing into the dock's edge. His vision darkened, his body screaming, but he refused to fall. Not yet.
"This was fun, but I'm out," Popeye gasped, his voice defiant. "Next time, I'll win." With a final glance at the three beasts, he sprinted for the water, diving in with a splash. The ship loomed in the distance, its sails catching the wind. Drax, Rogar, and Brunt roared in frustration, unable to follow, their eyes turning to the Red Tide crates on the dock.
The three leaders faced each other, tension crackling. Rogar's horn gleamed in his hybrid form now, Drax's fins twitched, and Brunt's axe rested on his shoulder. No one moved, waiting for the first strike. Brunt always inpatient broke the standoff, swinging his axe at Rogar, who blocked with his horn, the clash shaking the pier. The fight for the cargo reignited, a brutal dance of monsters, each determined to claim it all.
On the Ship
Popeye dragged himself aboard, collapsing on the deck, his wounds bleeding anew from the swim. The crew rushed him, two with basic medical skills bandaging his cuts, cleaning the blood as he lay unconscious. The ship's sails snapped, pulling them away from Kutsukku's chaos. Olbap stood at the helm, his mind reeling. The Devil Fruits had been a myth to him, something from stories he'd never seen in his old life. Now, witnessing their power—men turning into beasts, tearing through armies—changed everything. What else can these fruits do? Could one make me stronger, fast enough to fight like them? The idea burned in his mind, but Drax's words echoed: they were nearly impossible to find in the Blues. The black market might hold answers, but that was a problem for later.
Barkos's intel about Silco weighed heavier. Someone sold out our base and Silco's name. Olbap's first instinct was to use it, to betray Silco and seize control, but he stopped himself. He was only 11, with no contacts, no knowledge of the Red Tide's third ingredient, and no power to hold a throne. Betrayal could wait—he needed to learn, to grow. For now, loyalty was his best play.
He grabbed the main Den Den Mushi, tuning to the emergency frequency for Silco. The snail's eyes glowed, its voice crackling. "Who's this?" Silco's gruff tone came through.
"It's Olbap. I've got urgent intel," Olbap said, his voice steady despite the chaos behind him. "The job's done, but we hit trouble—lost a lot of men. In exchange for helping the Salt Dogs, their boss told me someone's selling info on our base, the island, and you in the black market."
Silence hung on the line, heavy and tense. Finally, Silco spoke. "Thanks for the heads-up, Olbap. Get back here fast—we'll likely have unwanted guests. Good work, as always. I'm giving you 25% of this job's take."
"Thank you, sir," Olbap said. "One more thing—the gang leaders here ate something called Devil Fruits. They can transform into animals. Thought they were myths, but I saw it."
"I've heard of them," Silco said, his voice grim. "Thought they were stories too. We'll talk in person when you're back. I've got preparations to make. Out." The call ended, the snail going silent.
Olbap set the Den Den Mushi down, his mind racing. If I'd gotten that intel later when my power was greater, it could've been my chance to strike. But he was young, with time to plan. At 11, he had years to build his empire. For now, he'd learn, grow stronger, and prepare for the day he'd outplay them all.
Even if betrayal wasn't his moral code, he would have to break it once so he could make it stronger for the future and not have to do it again in his life.
End of the chapter.