One Piece: Undying Dream

"What the hell is that?" Jiro jumped to his feet, moving to the door.

Roku grabbed his arm. "Wait." That sixth sense was screaming at him now, a pressure building behind his eyes.

He moved to the small gap in the wall that served as his window and peered out.

What he saw made his breath catch in his throat.

The entire island was in chaos. Slaves were running in all directions, some fleeing, others attacking guards. Fires had broken out near the south harbor, and the sound of distant explosions echoed across the water. A massive ship unlike any Roku had seen before had docked at the south pier. Its hull was dark and weathered, with a fearsome figurehead that seemed to glare at the island itself.

"Another pirate attack?" Jiro whispered, excitement and fear mingling in his voice. "Like the ones from two months ago?"

Roku shook his head slowly, watching as a guard tower near the docks simply... collapsed, as if crushed by an invisible hand. "No. This is something else."

"How would you know? We never get to hear anything about the outside world." Jiro pressed his face closer to the gap, straining to see more. "Maybe we should—"

"You need to hide," Roku cut him off. "Now."

"What? No way! This could be our chance!" Jiro grabbed Roku's arm. "We should go together. Maybe these pirates will take us with them!"

Roku turned to face Jiro, his expression hard. "You'll slow me down. And if you get caught, I won't help you. Go back to the slave quarters, find a hiding spot, and stay there until this is over."

"But—"

"Jiro." Roku's voice left no room for argument. "You want to survive? Do as I say."

Reluctance and hurt flashed across Jiro's face, but he nodded. "Fine. But don't you dare get yourself killed." He slipped out of the shed, disappearing into the chaos.

Roku waited until he was sure Jiro was gone before moving. Years of navigating the island's hidden paths had given him an advantage—he knew every blind spot in the guards' patrol routes, every section of wall that could be scaled without being seen.

The island itself was roughly circular, about five miles across, with the massive arena complex near its center. The northern side held the main harbor and the warlords' luxurious compound. The eastern section, where his shed was hidden, contained the common slave quarters and the mines where less valuable slaves labored. The western edge was dominated by agricultural fields where food was grown to sustain the island's population. And to the south, beyond a dense stretch of jungle that had never been fully cleared, lay the secondary harbor—used mainly for smaller vessels and emergency evacuations.

That's where Roku headed now, keeping low and using the increasing disorder as cover. He moved through the eastern slave quarters, past terrified people barricading themselves in their cells and huts, past others who saw the chaos as a chance to settle old scores with particularly brutal guards.

The jungle that separated the eastern quarter from the southern shore was a tangled mass of vegetation—deliberately left wild to act as a natural barrier. Roku slipped between the trees with practiced ease, moving faster now that he was out of sight. The heat and smoke grew intensely as he approached the southern edge of the island.

12:47 - Edge of Southern Forest

As he neared the tree line overlooking the southern harbor, Roku dropped to his stomach and crawled the final few yards. What he saw made his blood run cold.

Eight figures stood on the shoreline, facing the island. They didn't look like ordinary pirates—each one seemed to radiate an aura of power that Roku could almost see, like heat waves rising from hot stone. Their appearances varied wildly: a woman with hair that moved like living flames; a man so tall he had to duck beneath the palm trees; another massive figure with a thick, muscular frame, his skin covered in battle scars like he had been torn apart and sewn back together. His black hair was pulled back into a thick ponytail; others whose forms were almost too strange to describe.

But what truly shocked Roku was the sight of Dagon—the fearsome "Butcher" himself—standing before these strangers with his head bowed. The massive man who had made thousands tremble was visibly shaking, his usual arrogance replaced by naked fear.

"You have one hour," one of the strangers was saying, his voice carrying easily across the distance. "Bring us what we came for, or we turn this entire island to ash."

Dagon's response was too quiet for Roku to hear, but his body language spoke volumes. The warlord was terrified.

Roku had never seen anything like it. Who were these pirates that could make even a man like Dagon cower?

The man who had spoken stood at the center of the group. Despite not being the tallest or most physically imposing, his presence dominated the shore. His wild deep red, untamed hair seemed to defy gravity itself, and the cruel smile that played across his face sent shivers down Roku's spine even from this distance.

Dagon nodded frantically. "Yes, Captain. One hour. It will be delivered as requested."