-Broadcast-
The Colossal Titans moved through the ocean with speeds that defied their massive size. Each sixty-meter giant used its superheated steam not just for intimidation but as propulsion—expelling pressurized vapor from their bodies like biological jet engines. They cut through the water faster than most sea kings, leaving trails of boiling turbulence in their wake.
The Rumbling wasn't limited to Dressrosa. It was global by design.
Anyone who'd consumed Eren Yeager's spinal fluid—mixed into wine, food, or medical compounds—carried the potential for transformation dormant in their bodies. The moment the Founding Titan issued its command, geography became irrelevant. A tourist who'd visited Dressrosa weeks ago and now stood on the other side of the world would transform instantly, creating localized chaos that bought time for the main Colossal Titan force to arrive and complete the destruction.
Fishman Island, ten thousand meters beneath the ocean's surface, was not immune to this strategy.
The underwater kingdom maintained semi-isolation from the surface world through careful border control and the natural barrier of crushing depths. Most visitors were pirates—some seeking adventure, others pursuing the more sinister business of mermaid trafficking. Beautiful mermaids could fetch astronomical prices in the slave markets, making kidnapping attempts a constant threat despite the kingdom's best security efforts.
Several of those pirates had visited Dressrosa's festival. Had sampled the free wine. Had consumed Eren's spinal fluid without knowing.
Now, in the heart of Fishman Street, they transformed.
The first scream echoed through the underwater district with crystalline clarity. Water transmitted sound differently than air—faster, clearer, carrying farther. By the time the second and third screams joined the chorus, half of Fishman Street had heard the commotion.
"What's happening?!" A mermaid shopkeeper swam toward the noise, her curiosity overcoming caution. Then she saw them—titans, three of them, each over fifteen meters tall and completely wrong for underwater existence. They shouldn't be able to move, shouldn't be able to function, yet they flailed with horrible purpose, grabbing at fleeing fishfolk with oversized hands.
"They're eating people!" someone shrieked. "The giants are eating people!"
The mermaid's world tilted. She'd lived for nearly forty years in this kingdom and never witnessed anything so barbaric. Giants—if they even existed—were supposed to be peaceful. Civilized. Not... not this.
A fishman—one of the strong ones who'd survived the recent civil war—planted himself in a titan's path. His fists blurred as he unleashed a combo from Fishman Karate, strikes that could shatter stone and dent steel. The titan's flesh rippled from the impacts, shallow craters forming where knuckles had connected.
Then steam hissed from the wounds. Tissue regenerated before the fishman's eyes, the damage erasing itself within seconds.
"Impossible," the fighter whispered. "Nothing heals that fast. What kind of monsters are these?"
The titan reached down with casual inevitability and grabbed him. The fishman's screams cut off abruptly as teeth the size of butcher knives closed around his torso.
Panic spread like blood in water. Fishfolk scattered in every direction—some swimming for the deeper districts, others fleeing toward the palace, a few freezing in shock until friends or family dragged them away. The titans pursued with relentless hunger, their expressions showing neither malice nor intelligence. Just empty, instinctive need to consume.
"Someone help us!" A mother shielded her children with her body, backed against a collapsed building with nowhere left to run. "Please! Anyone!"
A massive shadow passed overhead.
Prince Fukaboshi—known to most as Shark Star—descended like divine judgment, his massive frame imposing even by merman standards. At over six meters tall with muscles that spoke of dedicated martial training, he commanded immediate respect and fear from anyone who saw him.
But more importantly, he wielded authority over the ocean itself.
"Merman Combat: Ultra Marine!" Prince Fukaboshi's hands moved through complex patterns, manipulating water currents with the precision of a master conducting an orchestra. The ocean responded to his will, forming a massive whirlpool that grew larger with each passing second.
The vortex caught the nearest titan mid-reach, its prey escaping just before enormous fingers could close. The giant was pulled into the swirling current, spinning faster and faster as centrifugal force and water pressure increased exponentially. Within sixty seconds, the titan's body began tearing apart—flesh shredding, bones shattering, the regeneration unable to keep pace with continuous damage from all directions.
When the whirlpool finally dispersed, only bloody chunks remained, sinking slowly toward the ocean floor.
"Everyone, evacuate to the palace!" Prince Fukaboshi commanded, his voice carrying authority that brooked no argument. "The Royal Army will handle these invaders! Civilians are to seek shelter immediately!"
With their prince leading the defense, the tide turned quickly. The Royal Army—trained warriors who'd drilled in combat since childhood—coordinated their attacks with brutal efficiency. Titans were isolated, surrounded, and systematically destroyed through concentrated Fishman Karate assaults and water manipulation techniques.
By the time the last titan fell, approximately fifty had been eliminated. The damage to Fishman Street was extensive—buildings reduced to rubble, businesses destroyed, lives lost—but the kingdom had survived the unexpected invasion.
As for the pirates who'd transformed? Nobody bothered counting their corpses.
-Broadcast: Ryugu Palace, Several Hours Later-
King Neptune surveyed the damage reports with a heavy heart, his massive frame dwarfing the ornate throne he occupied. The reconstruction costs would be enormous—displaced families needed new homes, destroyed infrastructure required replacement, and traumatized citizens deserved compensation for their losses.
At least we have the treasury to handle it, Neptune thought, grateful for the kingdom's relative prosperity. Better to be generous now than let resentment fester. I won't have my people suffering in the streets.
The civil war—when Hody Jones and his extremist New Fishman Pirates had attempted a coup—had ended only recently. The kingdom was still healing from that internal strife. This new disaster tested their resilience at the worst possible time.
But they had advantages now that hadn't existed before Hody's rebellion. The resistance movement was crushed completely. Princess Shirahoshi could move freely throughout the kingdom without fear of Vander Decken IX's obsessive harassment—that particular threat had been permanently eliminated when the Straw Hat Pirates had dismembered the deranged fishman and scattered his remains across the ocean floor.
Most importantly, Queen Otohime lived again.
Her resurrection through the legendary blade Tenseiga had been nothing short of miraculous. The kingdom had celebrated for days when their beloved queen returned from death, her kindness and wisdom intact despite the trauma of assassination. King Neptune had eagerly shared governmental authority with his wife, recognizing that her political acumen far exceeded his own simplistic approach to leadership.
She's always been smarter than me, Neptune admitted privately. I'm just the muscle. She's the brain that makes this kingdom function properly.
Currently, Queen Otohime was meeting with Madam Shyarly in a private chamber—a consultation Neptune had arranged at his wife's request. The fortune-teller rarely left her Mermaid Café, and convincing her to visit the palace had required considerable diplomatic effort.
Whatever they were discussing, Neptune prayed it wouldn't bring more bad news.
Queen Otohime sat across from Madam Shyarly with the careful posture of someone trying not to appear nervous. The fortune-teller cut an imposing figure even seated—nearly a full meter taller than Otohime, with an air of cool sophistication that bordered on aloofness. Her elegant features remained impassive as she studied the queen with calculating eyes.
How Neptune and I produced three giant sons remains a mystery, Otohime thought with internal amusement, grateful for the distraction from her anxiety. The size proportions really don't make biological sense. Then again, most reproduction in the mermaid kingdom happens via external egg-laying, so perhaps that explains things.
"Madam Shyarly," Otohime began, her voice warm but carrying underlying tension. "Thank you for agreeing to this meeting. I've been experiencing troubling intuitions lately—nothing concrete, just a persistent sense that something terrible approaches our kingdom. I was hoping your divination could provide clarity."
Shyarly's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes. Resignation, perhaps. Or dread. "Your Majesty, I must be honest. I despise fortune-telling."
The admission hung in the water between them.
"My predictions are never wrong," Shyarly continued, her voice flat. "One hundred percent accuracy across decades of readings. I've foreseen deaths, tragedies, catastrophes—all of which came to pass exactly as shown. Do you understand what that does to a person? Watching futures unfold with absolute certainty, unable to change them, helpless to prevent suffering even when you know it's coming?"
She pulled a cigarette from her jacket and lit it, taking a long drag before continuing. "I've predicted your death, Your Majesty. I predicted Princess Shirahoshi's birth. I've seen countless smaller events that all came true without exception. Every vision shows misfortune. Every reading brings despair. I've wanted to throw away my crystal ball and live in ignorance."
"Yet you came when I called," Otohime said gently. "Because you still care about this kingdom despite the burden your gift places on you."
"Arlong is my brother," Shyarly said simply, as though that explained everything. Perhaps it did. "For better or worse, Fishman Island is my home. If you need to know what's coming, I'll look. But I can't promise you'll like what I see."
"I understand the risk." Otohime's hands folded in her lap, knuckles white with tension. "Please proceed."
Shyarly produced a crystal ball from her bag—not particularly large, just a simple sphere of perfectly clear glass that caught the bioluminescent light of the palace and refracted it into rainbow patterns. She placed it on the table between them, closed her eyes, and began murmuring an incantation in an ancient dialect most modern fishfolk had forgotten.
The chamber fell silent except for Shyarly's whispered words. Minutes passed with agonizing slowness as the fortune-teller communed with whatever mysterious force granted her prophetic sight.
Then her body began trembling.
Otohime leaned forward with concern. "Madam Shyarly? Are you—"
Cold sweat beaded on Shyarly's face, visible even in the dim light. Her trembling intensified, becoming violent shaking that rattled the table. Her lips moved soundlessly, forming words of horror she couldn't voice.
"No," Shyarly whispered, her voice cracking. "No, that's not possible. It can't be—"
"Ah... don't... ah... you're all insane!" Shyarly's eyes snapped open, pupils dilated with pure terror.
The crystal ball exploded.
Not a simple crack or fracture—a detonation. The sphere burst outward with enough force to send razor-sharp fragments flying across the chamber like shrapnel. Otohime threw up her arms instinctively, feeling glass slice shallow cuts across her face and hands. Blood clouded the water around them, tiny red wisps dispersing in lazy spirals.
Shyarly gasped, her connection to the vision severed violently. She slumped in her chair, chest heaving as though she'd surfaced from crushing depths too quickly. Her elegant composure had shattered as thoroughly as her divination tool.
"Madam Shyarly!" Otohime ignored her own injuries, swimming around the table to support the fortune-teller. "What did you see? What future frightened you so badly?"
For several long moments, Shyarly couldn't speak. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly, trying to form words adequate to describe the horror she'd witnessed. When she finally found her voice, it came out broken and small.
"I saw..." She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to vomit. "I saw something descend upon Fishman Island. Not a person. Not a creature. Something... else."
"A monster?" Otohime pressed, her maternal instincts demanding information to protect her people.
"A god." Shyarly's eyes had gone distant, still seeing the vision despite its forcible end. "A god covered in writhing tentacles, with a form too vast to fully comprehend. It descended from above with terrible majesty, and wherever it passed..." Her voice broke completely. "Everyone died, Your Majesty. Every living being on Fishman Island. Total extinction. Nothing survived."
The words fell like stones into still water, ripples of implication spreading outward.
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