Boom!
Another ship was crushed beneath the Terror Ghost.
It resembled a great white shark, baring jagged fangs as it lunged again and again at its prey with a gaping maw.
What kind of ship is this? How can such a thing even exist?
The Straw Hats couldn't comprehend it—but they could already imagine what fate awaited the Going Merry.
That was something Luffy could never accept.
He could bear watching the Merry swallowed by the waves, and treat it as a tragic, honorable farewell.
But to see it destroyed by the Terror Ghost—that would be far too pitiful.
So he turned to his crew, and against the storm, he gave them a wide grin.
"Let's fight for the Merry together—until the very end."
No one hesitated. They all agreed. Usopp, especially, was overcome with emotion.
But then, after devouring several ships in a row, the Terror Ghost abruptly stopped.
"What's going on?" Nami wiped rain from her face. "Don't tell me they've changed their minds?"
"No," Zoro replied flatly. He pointed toward the shore. "More likely—because of them."
The Straw Hats turned to look. At some point, a group had gathered at the harbor. Most wore matching black suits.
"It's the people who took Robin," Sanji recognized several among them. "They've come back."
"This time their target isn't us—it's the Davy Jones Pirates," Zoro judged, tightening his grip on his swords.
And sure enough, in the storm-dark night, the figures blurred and vanished—most of them reappearing the next instant above the Terror Ghost.
Only two remained at the harbor.
One was Spandam, who had loudly declared he would "command from the rear."
The other was Nero, the newest member of CP9. Though one of the weaker agents, he was more than enough to guard Spandam.
The rest—like a flock of black crows—were Kuzan, Smoker, and the agents of CP9.
"Be careful," Kuzan's calm voice carried through the storm.
The "crows" scattered in the air, using Geppo to dart and dive like black arrows, plunging toward the black ship.
At once, countless cannon muzzles protruded from the ship's hull. There was no order to them—one east, one west—but all aimed squarely at the intruders.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The thunder of cannon fire erupted, smoke clouding the night sky.
But under Kuzan's lead, this was no ordinary force—they were all elite.
Their skill and powers let them weave between the barrage like swallows skimming the sea, until they landed deftly upon the deck of the black ship.
And yet—strangely—not a single soul was there to meet them.
Where had the Davy Jones pirates gone?
"Fog." Smoker's sharp eyes narrowed. "It's cloaking the whole ship like a wall."
They looked around. Indeed, as he said, the vessel was being wrapped, layer by layer, in a dense fog. Even on deck, faces blurred into shadows.
"I warned you before," Smoker continued, cigar glowing in the storm. "This ship… it manipulates the climate around it. Fog, storms, gales—it's all part of its power."
"Mm." Rain streamed from Kuzan's unruly curls. "You also said it once withstood a strike from Garp's fist… and sailed away without a scratch."
"And now," Smoker answered grimly, "we're standing on it ourselves. You'll see soon enough."
At that moment, the ship's cabin door creaked open. The fog churned, as though ripped by a gale—but they all knew it wasn't the wind.
Beyond lay a long, dark corridor. No lights burned inside. It resembled the open jaws of some vast whale, waiting for prey to step willingly into its maw.
Kuzan was the first to stoop and walk in. The others followed in a line.
They walked some distance through the pitch-black hall before reaching a fork in the passage.
"This ship really is strange." Kuzan shoved his hands in his pockets, expression still calm as his gaze swept the endless dark. "No vessel could possibly contain this much space inside. It's like a labyrinth."
All of them sensed the unnaturalness of it. But none were easily shaken—they were people long accustomed to living on the razor's edge of life and death. What they felt was not fear, but intrigue.
"Forget the ship for now. I'll handle Davy Jones." Kuzan yawned, then casually strolled down one of the passages. "As for the rest—deal with them however you see fit. Kill or capture, your choice."
"Admiral Aokiji." Smoker's tone was warning. "Don't forget—Davy Jones is rumored to regenerate. No confirmed weakness yet."
Kuzan didn't look back. He merely waved one hand behind him, then vanished into the darkness.
Smoker hesitated, then struck a match to relight his cigar.
"One room at a time. They're here—we'll find them."
The ship's interior proved even larger than expected.
Kalifa couldn't remember how many rooms she had searched—ten, perhaps more.
What she did know was that, without realizing it, she and the other CP9 agents had become separated as they delved deeper into the vessel.
The corridors were so dark you couldn't see your own hand. In her black dress and stockings she nearly vanished into the gloom—only her bright golden hair betrayed her presence.
But in such darkness, her senses sharpened.
At last, she heard something—a sound not her own.
Rounding a corner, she spotted a faint sliver of light spilling from a doorframe. Muffled voices drifted through.
She approached, held her breath, and pressed an ear to listen.
"…Hard to believe you survived wounds like that," said a woman's voice.
Kalifa peered through the crack. Inside stood a woman with long blue hair, tending to someone lying on a bed—a second woman.
Porche shuddered, her voice trembling. "I keep remembering—when you were cut apart, in pieces… Law's power is terrifying. But this ship is even worse. I hate it."
The woman on the bed was Mikita, fast asleep.
Porche sat at her bedside, a flickering candle casting warm light across the room.
Two of them. Two to eliminate first.
Adjusting her glasses, Kalifa calmly pushed the door open. The hinges groaned.
Porche whipped her head around, startled at the sight of a stranger.
"Who are you?"
Kalifa, assassin as much as agent, answered with no words. She launched forward with Soru, finger extended for a killing strike—Shigan aimed at Porche's throat.
Porche's eyes went wide, frozen in shock. She had no chance to react.
Whoosh!
But Kalifa suddenly recoiled, flipping backward into a crouch, one hand on the floor to steady herself.
Because a spiked club had just swung at her arm. Too sudden for Tekkai or Kami-e—she had no choice but to abandon her strike.
A third person. Another in the room.
Kalifa's sharp eyes fixed forward.
And there—club in hand—stood Alvida.
That even Kalifa's CP9-trained senses hadn't detected her meant only one thing: Alvida had sensed her first, suppressed her own presence, and waited. Then struck at the perfect moment.
If Kalifa had been even a fraction slower, her arm would already be shattered.
But how had Alvida noticed her presence beforehand?
Kalifa thought of only one possibility Observation Haki. The realization set her on edge.
"A-A-Alvida…" Porche stammered, still trembling from the close brush with death.
"Stay with Mikita." Alvida's voice was cool, confident. She slung the spiked club across her shoulder, a hand on her hip, red lips curling. "This one's mine."
"Confidence is a fine thing." Kalifa rose smoothly to her feet. Soap bubbles began to bloom across her body, glittering faintly in the candlelight like a shimmering evening gown.
"You're a Devil Fruit user too. The 'Bubble' fruit, isn't it?"
Alvida frowned slightly. Since boarding the ship, she had worked in intelligence. She knew better than to judge a fruit's power at face value. Even if it looked like mere "bubbles," there had to be more.
Kalifa adjusted her glasses again. "And I know you—Alvida, the Slip-Slip Fruit user. But you don't know my ability. That is my advantage."
She said it firmly, but Alvida, keen-eyed as a woman herself, noticed the faint unease in her tone.
Why would Kalifa be uneasy?
Alvida thought back.
Before coming aboard, Kalifa had ranked the opponents she least wanted to face among the Davy Jones pirates.
Davy Jones himself was number one.
And number two—was Alvida.
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