The Ambushed Fleet Admiral

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

The sea was lead-gray, unnervingly calm, broken only briefly by the white wake plowed by the warship before healing back to stillness.

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 endlessly surging tide.

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

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

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

"This is the place."

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

Gion walked to the right, his perpetually smiling narrowed eyes 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 synchronized stomping of military boots beat out an ominous rhythm across the deathly silent island.

Barrels stood before the massive rock without moving. The nauseatingly wicked smile at the corners of his mouth was identical to the one on the wanted poster.

Kong stopped ten paces away. He crossed his arms, his cape utterly still in the faint breeze, and his face showed no effort to conceal his disgust for the traitor.

"Where is the Op-Op Fruit?"

Kong