The Ambushed Fleet Admiral

The gray sky hung low, like a rag soaked in filthy water, ready to squeeze out viscous rain at any moment.

The sea was lead-gray, unnervingly calm, only briefly split apart by the white wake carved by the warship before healing as though nothing had happened.

The warship slowly approached the desolate shore. There was no dock, only jagged black reefs and a stretch of pebbled beach polished smooth by the relentless surf.

Farther inland, sparse dead trees stretched toward the sky like bones, their trunks twisted and branches broken.

On deck, Kong lowered the wanted poster in his hand. Its edges fluttered in the sea breeze before falling again with a faint rustle.

In the photograph, the snarling face of former Marine officer Diez Barrels perfectly overlapped with the man standing beneath the massive rock ahead.

"We're here."

Kong was the first to descend the gangplank. His military boots pressed into the gravel of the barren shore with a dull crunch. Gion followed half a step behind and to his left, her right hand hovering over the hilt of Kompira.

Chaton walked on the right. His usually smiling, narrowed eyes were now fully open as his gaze swept over every shadow cast by the rocks on the island.

Behind the three of them, hundreds of Marines advanced in formation. The sound of their boots striking the ground was uniform, hammering out an ominous rhythm across the silent island.

Barrels stood before the massive rock without moving. The same sinister smile from the wanted poster hung on his lips, so vile it made one sick.

Kong stopped ten paces away. He crossed his arms, his cape utterly still in the breeze, undisguised disgust for the traitor written across his face.

"Where is the Op-Op Fruit?"

Kong had never held any