Sea calander - 1521
North Blue.
Grey clouds pressed low over the North Blue, turning the sea to molten slate. Two Marine warships cut across the swell, their prows cleaving the chop in perfect rhythm.
From above, gulls shrieked and scattered as cannon smoke rolled through the rain.
Rear Admiral Darius Volt stood on the forecastle of the lead vessel, a dark coat snapping in the wind.
His medals chimed faintly against his chestplate; his expression didn't move. Beneath him, the younger officers watched his silhouette like anxious students around a teacher who never raised his voice but could end a career with a glance.
"Report," he said.
"Target ship sighted off our port bow, sir! Black hull, crimson sails—"
Darius's jaw flexed. "—gold trim. The Ravenant. So the rumors were true."
He'd heard them whispered in the mess halls of Marineford: a ghostly ship slipping between Blues, led by a laughing swordsman called Ashborn 'The Reaper.'
No one agreed on what his crew was capable of, only that wherever the the Ravenant appeared, ports burned and pirates disappeared.
The midshipman handed over a spyglass. Through the lens, Darius saw it: the Ravenant rising and falling in the swells, beautiful and obscene against the storm—its sails catching flashes of lightning like blood-stained banners. And above the mainmast, a single raven, huge and jet-black, wheeled in lazy circles.
The younger recruits around him murmured.
"Is that bird always there?"
"They say it's his pet, sir. Shows up before he kills someone."
"Superstition," Darius said, though even he felt the hair on his arms rise.
He turned to his captains—three men and women who had clawed their way up through the North Blue ranks.
Captain Garnet Mire, a claymore-wielding giant from Lvneel, scars criss-crossing her shaven head.
Captain Tess Rume, master marksman, her rifle a custom flint-and-seastone hybrid.
Captain Kane Eldor, Rokushiki specialist whose grin never reached his eyes.
"Form the line," Darius ordered. "We catch them before the current takes them. If they reach Reverse Mountain, they vanish into the Grand Line—and the world will call this failure mine."
A thunderclap punctuated the words. The sea surged, pushing the warships forward. Marines scrambled to the cannons, ropes slapping decks slick with rain.
In the distance, the Ravenant's crew came into focus—tiny moving shapes, laughter carrying even through the wind.
"Are they… singing?" one recruit muttered. It sounded absurd, but faint strains of music—rowdy, off-key—floated back across the waves.
Darius lowered the spyglass. "They mock us."
"Sir, should we open fire?"
He didn't answer immediately. He watched as the raven dipped, landing on the Ravenant's masthead, spreading its wings against the lightning like an omen painted in shadow. The sight twisted something in his gut.
Then Darius spoke, voice low but clear through the storm.
"Open fire."
The first broadside erupted. Dozens of iron balls screamed through the air, splitting mist and water alike. The roar echoed off the cliffs that framed Reverse Mountain, and the chase began in earnest.
The Ravenant bucked against the growing tide like a beast eager to break free. Its crimson sails snapped with each gust, gold threads glimmering through sheets of rain.
The carved figurehead—a winged reaper wreathed in mist—cut through the waves like it was slicing through the world itself.
At the helm stood Ashborn, coat fluttering behind him, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the hilt of his tachi, its sheath lacquered deep blue.
The faint aura of killing intent that surrounded him had long become familiar to his crew—it was the calm before the storm, the silence before thunder chose where to fall.
On the railing above, Ruin—his raven—let out a chilling caw that echoed across the sea.
"That sound again," muttered Nami, adjusting her orange hair beneath her weather hood, a chart flapping wildly in her hand.
"It's like he knows when things are about to get messy."
"They're already messy,"
Zoro grinned from the portside, leaning against the railing, his three swords glinting even in the storm.
"Two warships on our tail, huh? That's about even odds."
"Even?" Reina Vale laughed, her voice smooth and sharp as she stepped out from below deck, wiping her hands on a towel that smelled faintly of spice and fire.
"You call two full Marine fleets even? You really need to work on your math, swordsman."
Zoro smirked. "I just count how many enemies I can cut before lunch. Math's not my thing."
From the starboard side, Trafalgar Law leaned against a mast, his nodachi sheathed across his back.
"Idiots. Both of you. If those ships close the distance, their cannons will chew this vessel apart before you get to 'lunch.'"
"Oh, come on, Doc." Ashborn's voice was light, almost amused. "You say that like we haven't outrun worse."
Ruin screeched again—once, sharp and piercing.
Nami squinted through the rain. "Cannonballs incoming!"
The first volley slammed into the sea to their right, sending geysers of foam sky-high.
The second volley—closer.
Ash twisted the wheel hard. The Ravenant leaned sharply, slicing between blasts with a grace that shouldn't have been possible for a ship its size. Lightning illuminated his grin.
"Hold on, everyone! They want a chase? Let's give them a dance!"
Medusa appeared beside him, silent as shadow. Her long lavender hair clung to her in the rain, her eyes—hidden behind her visor—glowed faintly.
She carried her chain-bound dagger like it was an extension of her will.
Her voice was soft, almost melodic.
"Orders, Captain?"
"Cut the ropes when I say. Zoro, Law—you're with me on the boarding run. Reina, cook something explosive. Nami, prepare to ride the current. Medusa, you're our shield."
"Aye," came the chorus.
The Ravenant spun broadside, cannons uncovered like teeth bared. Reina flicked her wrist—a swirl of glowing aura erupted around her hands, food ingredients from nowhere forming into golden batter and glistening oil.
With a smirk, she shaped the mixture into small, spherical bombs—Tempest Fritters, each crackling with heat and energy.
"Appetizers are ready," she announced.
"Good," Ashborn said while grinning. "Throw them a feast."
.
.
.
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_____To be continued ______