The desert stretched endlessly, a flaxen sea beneath the sun, as the duck squadron charged across the sands. Karoo led with Vivi, while Cowboy ambled lazily beside him, and Bourbon Jr. weaved drunkenly under Marya's cackling command. Kentauros, however, seemed determined to buck Charlie into the nearest cactus.
Charlie whined, clinging to Kentauros' neck, glasses askew, "WHY IS HE SPINNING?!"
Standing atop Bourbon Jr., arms spread, Marya replied, "HE'S JUST EXPRESSING HIMSELF! LET IT OUT, KENTAUROS!"
The duck responded by launching into a sand-kicking gallop, Charlie's screams blending with Marya's glee. Vaughn rode Cowboy with ease, his posture relaxed but eyes scanning the horizon. Overhead, Pell's shadow glided like a guardian spirit.
By the time the shore came into view—a sliver of turquoise against the amber—Charlie had sand in places he'd rather not mention. Two submarines waited in the shallows: one sleek and marked with the Consortium's emblem, the other weathered and worn, its hatch half-open like a lazy grin.
Vivi, dismounting Karoo, her attention fixed on the submersibles, "Your ride home. Or… rides, I suppose."
Marya, immediately dropping to her knees in the surf, petting Bourbon Jr., "NOOO, DON'T GOOO! I'LL NAME MY FIRSTBORN AFTER YOU! ALL OF YOU!" Vivi hid her chuckle of amusement as the ducks honked in unison. Kentauros grudgingly allowed one final scratch.
Vaughn approached Pell, the two men locking eyes, nodding, "You fly well."
Pell, returning the nod, "You don't." A fond smirk flickered between them.
Charlie, staggered ashore with wobbling legs, "I'm… never… riding anything… ever again…"
Marya, smirked, tossing him a water canteen, "Aw, c'mon! You've got grit! And… sand. So much sand."
As Vivi handed Vaughn a sealed map, Charlie squinted at the abandoned sub, muttering, "The notes… the previous team left their logs behind. If we take that one, I could cross-reference their findings with ours…"
Vaughn replied, eyeing the weathered sub, "It's a relic. Could sink."
Marya, slinging an arm around Charlie, "Adventure! Plus, think of the drama! Besides, it's not like we can just leave it here."
Charlie, shoulders slumping, sighed, "Fine. But you're unclogging the filters."
Vivi hugged Marya tightly, whispering, "Don't lose those daggers. Or yourself."
Marya, grinned, "No promises, Princess."
As the subs' engines growled to life, Pell took to the skies, and the ducks waddled back toward the dunes—Bourbon Jr. belching a farewell hiccup. Charlie clambered into the abandoned sub after Marya, already muttering about mildew and marginalia. Vaughn lingered a moment, watching Vivi. The hatches sealed. Engines churned. And as the Consortium vanished beneath the waves, Vivi stood knee-deep in the surf, the weight of secrets lighter—for now—in the Alabasta sun.
*****
The Consortium harbor's cavernous belly hummed with the groan of subs docking, saltwater dripping from rusted chains into ink-black pools. Vaughn stood alone on the grated walkway, his shadow fractured by the flickering glow of bioluminescent algae snaking across the basalt walls. The Consortium's crescent emblem hung beside a new addition—the Red-Haired Pirates' jovial, wind-whipped flag—their alliance now etched into the damp stone.
With his hands on his hips, Vaughn slammed a fist onto the control panel, "Where are they?" His voice echoed, but there was no answer. The second sub bay gaped empty, seawater sloshing where Marya and Charlie's vessel should have surfaced an hour ago. He'd paced the docks twice, checked the comms array thrice, and now glared at the pirates' flag as if it might confess.
Junior Engineer Nelo, leaning over the railing, called from the upper catwalk, "Guardian Vaughn! The Head Librarian wants your report before the lunar alignment!"
Vaughn, lip twitching, snarled without looking up, "Tell her the report's missing two idiots and a submarine."
Nelo answered with silence, then retreating footsteps. Vaughn crouched, running a hand through his dreads, muttering, "Should've never let them take that rust-bucket…"
His mind rewound the hours: Marya's manic grin as she'd claimed the abandoned sub, Charlie's nervous scribbling about "cross-referencing logs." They'd been fine. The desert hadn't killed them. The relics hadn't burned them. But the sea… A drip echoed and Vaughn froze.
Marya's Voice, ghostly in his memory, "Relax, Grumpy! Worst case, we'll float home on a bookshelf!"
He stormed to the comms station, slamming open channels. Static hissed in response. Vaughn barked into the mic, "Marya. Charlie. Respond. Now." Nothing.
*****
The submarine's interior hummed with the low, pulsing glow. Marya leaned against the pilot's chair, her kogatana cold against her collarbone, while Charlie scribbled furiously in the margins of a crumbling Alabastan ledger.
"You're certain the Sun Deity's temple wasn't a metaphor?" Charlie muttered, adjusting his glasses. "Because this diagram of a 'flame ascendant' looks suspiciously like a combustion engine."
Marya flicked a switch, her mist-laced fingers leaving faint trails in the air. "It was a deity, Charlie. Not a mechanic."
"All deities are mechanics," he retorted, clearing his throat in that annoyingly precise way. "Mythology is just primitive engineering. For example, Poseidon's—" The submarine shuddered. A discordant screech tore through the hull, like metal claws raking across the abyss. "What was that?" Charlie snapped his ledger shut.
Marya's hand hovered over the bubble porter—a circular device studded with nodes. The Consortium's subs didn't use conventional propulsion; they "hopped" with bubble transportation. Usually.
"Probably a pressure fluctuation," she lied. The porter's glyphs were flickering crimson. She activated it anyway. The world compressed. Charlie's glasses slid down his nose as the sub lurched sideways, walls groaning like a dying leviathan. When the distortion cleared, the control panel erupted in frantic light.
"Brilliant," Charlie deadpanned. "Did we just break time?"
Marya ignored him, stabbing at the emergency protocols. The sub began surfacing autonomously, gears whining. A deafening THUD rocked the chamber as they breached—not the crisp slap of waves, but something hollow and resonant, like hitting the roof of a drowned cathedral. The lights died. There was silence, followed by the faint drip-drip of seawater seeping through the vents.
Charlie fumbled for a glow-stone. Its pale light revealed Marya's face—sharp, wary, her father's arrogance tempered by something unfamiliar: dread. "Coms are dead. No beacon. Nothing."
"So we're stranded in the middle of nowhere?" Charlie asks, eyes darting upward toward the sounds of hull thuds.
Marya unsheathed Eternal Night, the blade's obsidian edge swallowing the glow-stone's light. "Check the viewport."
Charlie squinted looking through the port to the outside. "Is that… a banana raft?"
"A what—?" Before Marya could finish, Charlie yanked the hatch open. Saltwater air flooded the sub, along with the smell of smoked sea king meat.
Sitting cross-legged on a garish yellow raft shaped like a half-eaten crescent moon was a freckled man roasting marshmallows over a tiny flame sprouting from his thumb. "Ahoy!" he called, waving a stick skewered with three charred marshmallows. "You guys have food? I'm out."
Marya blinked. "Who are you?"
"Portgas D. Ace! Nice sub!" He tossed a marshmallow at Charlie, who fumbled it into the ocean. "Sorry about the, uh—" He gestured vaguely at the colossal sargassum still tangled around his raft's rudder. "Your submarine attacked my raft."
"We attacked you?!" Charlie spluttered.
"Yeah! I thought you were a really polite sea monster." Ace shrugged. "Happens all the time."
Marya sheathed her sword, mist dissipating from her shoulders. Something about this man's utter lack of self-preservation put her at ease. "We're… lost. Our navigation's dead."
Ace lit another marshmallow on fire. "Cool! Me too. Wanna team up?"
Marya exchanged a bewildered glance with Charlie. "Why not?" she muttered, her voice laced with resignation.
Ace, grinning ear to ear, tossed another marshmallow into his mouth. "Alright then, let's get this show on the road!"
Marya and Charlie shared a silent, exasperated agreement: navigating the treacherous seas was going to be an adventure, but teaming up with this eccentric marshmallow-roasting castaway was bound to be unforgettable.
Ten Minutes Later
The submarine now towed Ace's Striker with a frayed rope Charlie insisted was "archaeologically significant." Ace lounged on the sub's deck, happily devouring their emergency rations.
"So," Charlie said, eyeing Ace's tattoo, "is 'ASCE' an acronym? Ancient Sea-Cucumber Enthusiasts? Association of Sentient Citrus Eaters—?"
"It's my name. With a typo." Ace burped. "You two got a crew?"
"We're academics," Marya said flatly, steering the sub away from a rock that looked suspiciously like a laughing skull.
"Adventurous academics!" Charlie added, sweating as the engine sputtered. "We, uh, preserve history. Secretly. Very secretly."
Ace nodded sagely. "Like ninjas?"
"Exactly like ninjas," Marya lied.
Ace nodded solemnly, then immediately ruined it by shouting, "LAND HO!" as Isla Koralia swung into view. The island was a riot of contradictions: volcanic peaks loomed behind beaches of jet-black sand, while neon-green sugar cane fields clashed violently with spice markets dyed crimson from the Haki-enhancing Piri-Piri peppers drying on bright carrot-hued rooftops. A gargantuan stone pillar—the "Spire of Ash"—stabbed the sky, its base littered with suspiciously fresh boulders.
Charlie adjusted his glasses. "Why is everything on fire?"
"Adventure," Ace said, already packing marshmallows into his cargo pockets.
The dock came into focus, a bustling hub where chaos reigned supreme. Ace's eyes glinted with mischief as the submarine glided into a narrow slip, and Marya grimaced at the cacophony of shouts, laughter, and haggling that greeted them.
The harbor was dominated by a bar called The Humble Kraken, its roof sagging under a Beast Pirate flag. A sign read: NO SHOES, NO SHIRT, NO PROBLEM (BUT NO EYE CONTACT WITH THE BARMAN'S PET EEL).
"Transponder snails," Marya said, eyeing a nearby vendor hawking "Kaido-Approved" snails wearing tiny leather jackets. "We need one. Quietly."
Ace, predictably, was not quiet. He tripped over a crate of Piri-Piri spice, sending a crimson cloud into the air. A nearby shopkeeper screamed, "YOU'LL ANGER THE TITAN!" as Ace sneezed fire, igniting a sugar cane cart.
"Run?" Charlie suggested.
"RUN," Marya agreed. They darted through the bustling market, dodging vendors and hopping over crates. They wove through the maze-like streets until they stumbled into a quieter backstreet, hearts pounding from the chase. They ducked into an alley—where Charlie, ever the academic, decided to "get a better view" by climbing onto a roof. "Charlie," Marya hissed, "get down."
"But the architectural symmetry of that spice silo is—"
CRACK.
The ground trembled as boulders rained from the spire towering over the island, Spire of Ash, its uneven silhouette etched with faded carvings of past rebels—their faces worn smooth by centuries of ash-laden winds. At its base, rubble from past landslides forms a skirt of broken stone, some boulders still bearing scorch marks from long-ago battles. A faint, sulfurous haze clings to the Spire, mingling with the sweet-sickly scent of Piri-Piri peppers from nearby fields. The air hums with a low, resonant growl as if the ground itself grumbles in warning to those who dare challenge its authority.
A landslide of pre-stacked rocks (conveniently labeled "HUMILITY AVALANCHE – KEEP BACK 500 FT") chased them through the streets. Ace laughed, sprinting backward. "This island's hospitable!"
Marya rolled her eyes. "This island is a deathtrap," she muttered, brushing the dust off her jacket.
They regrouped at the edge of town, where the Obsidian Cliffs glinted ominously. Charlie pulled out a tiny pickaxe. "These cliffs are clearly fossilized bone! A groundbreaking discovery—"
"NO MINING!" howled a passing fisherman.
But it was too late. Charlie chipped off a shard. The cliff roared. Lava serpents burst forth, hissing in haiku. "Foolish little man / Your curiosity burns / Like a stupid moth."
Ace saluted the serpents. "Nice poem! Wanna marshmallow?"
In a flurry of movement, the trio dashed toward the coastline, the air filled with the echoes of the hissing serpents and the faint tremors from the cliffs. Their breath came in ragged gasps as they burst through the dense foliage, finally reaching the tranquility of the beach.
Exchanging a glance, they collectively sighed, grateful for the temporary respite. Marya, knelt in the sand, sketching out their next move while keeping a wary eye on the horizon. Drawing a map in the sand. "We'll circle back to the bar after—" The tide rushed in, erasing her footprints. The waves then personally targeted her, making the sand slick and she face-planted.
Charlie snorted. "Graceful ninja."
"I'll turn you into mist," Marya growled, sliding comically into a coconut tree.
Ace helped Marya to her feet, her face still dusted with sand. "Come on, let's find some real shelter before more serpents or tides decide to surprise us," he said, shaking his head with a grin. Spotting a cave, he pointed. "Shelter!"
"NO SHADOWS!" yelled a child hurrying past.
They entered anyway. Instantly, Ace's shadow peeled off and challenged him to a puppet duel, wielding a tiny sword made of darkness. "This is AWESOME," Ace said, battling his own shadow with a marshmallow stick.
Marya dragged him out mid-fight. "Priorities. Transponder snail."
The group's laughter echoed faintly in the cave as they made their way back to the shoreline. With renewed determination, they set off toward the heart of the island, their destination now clear. The chittering of nocturnal creatures accompanied their journey, a symphony of the wild.
Marya led the way, her map now etched firmly in her mind. The air grew thicker, warmer, and the distant rumblings of the volcano were a constant reminder of the island's untamed power. They knew they had to act quickly.
Twilight approached as they fled toward the volcano. Ace, ever the climber, scaled the Smoke Spire. "View's great up here!"
The plume began solidifying into glass-like ash. "ACE, YOU'LL TURN INTO A FOSSIL!" Charlie yelled.
"Cool!"
Marya yanked him down with a mist-whip seconds before the spire sealed. Ace's hat remained, immortalized in ash. "Hat's happier here," he decided, shrugging at his ash-encrusted hat now fused to the Smoke Spire like a bizarre trophy.
The bar they found—The Tipsy Titan—was a lopsided shack with a roof made of sugar cane stalks and a sign that read, "NO SHOES, NO SHADOWS, NO PROBLEMS (WE'RE ALL PROBLEMS HERE)." Inside, locals with Beast Pirate tattoos side-eyed them while slurping drinks that smelled suspiciously like Haki-enhancing hot sauce.
Marya slammed a fist on the sticky counter. "What is up with this island? It's like the land itself wants us dead."
Ace, already halfway through a stolen plate of "volcano nachos," grinned. "Nah, it's just flirting. I get this all the time."
"Flirting?!" Charlie hissed, frantically wiping Piri-Piri spice out of his eyes. "The sand made me trip into a cactus!"
"That's just how islands say 'howdy' in the New World," Ace said, ordering a drink called The Humble Punch (ingredients: mystery).
Charlie's eyes darted around the room. "Ace, can you stop making friends and focus?"
Ace shrugged, clearly unbothered by the peculiarities of their situation. "Relax, Charlie. How bad can it be?"
Marya rolled her eyes. She turned to the bartender, her voice lower, more urgent. "Anything else we should know before we head out?" But before the bartender could respond, the ground began to tremble. Bottles clinked ominously on the shelves, and a low, rumbling noise filled the air, growing louder by the second.
Marya cornered the bartender, a hulking man with a pet eel wrapped around his neck like a scarf. "We need a transponder snail. Now."
The bartender snorted. "Only snails here sing Kaido's sea shanties. And they charge by the verse."
"We'll take it," Charlie said, sliding a bag of Berries across the counter and the eel ate it.
The bartender tossed them a neon-pink snail wearing a tiny leather jacket. It immediately belted out: "KAIDO RULES THE WAVES, HE DRINKS AND FIGHTS AND MISBEHAVES—"
"Catchy!" Ace said, conducting the snail with a frenched fry.
Marya leaned over the counter. "Seriously. What's with the rules here? The landslides? The shadow puppets? The poetry lava snakes?"
The bar fell silent.
A toothless fisherman whispered, "You… asked about the taboos. Now the Titan's awake." The ground rumbled. Sugar cane stalks rained from the ceiling.
Ace raised his drink. "To the Titan! Wanna nacho?"
They fled as the bar's floor split open, revealing a glowing fissure. The transponder snail, still singing Kaido's anthem, clung to Charlie's head. The snail's song was drowned out by the escalating tremors. Charlie grabbed the neon-pink transponder snail and stuffed it into his bag. Marya glanced around, her eyes scanning for any sign of an exit amidst the chaos.
"Enough of this nonsense!" she shouted over the din. "We need to find a way out, now!"
Ace, still munching on his frenched fry, looked far too calm for the situation. "Alright, alright. Let's move before things get too poetic around here."
The ground cracked beneath their feet, forcing the trio to leap over widening gaps in the floor. Bottles shattered, and the bar patrons scrambled in panic. The bartender, unperturbed, wiped down the counter as if this were a daily occurrence.
Suddenly, a section of the wall crumbled, revealing a hidden passageway. Marya pointed towards it. "There! Let's go!"
They dashed towards the opening, narrowly avoiding falling debris. As they reached the passageway, a voice echoed through the bar, chilling in its clarity: "Enter the realm of shadows and serpents, where the price of curiosity is steep."
Ignoring the ominous words, they plunged into the darkness of the passage, the tremors and chaos fading behind them.
"Why is everything here sentient?!" Marya yelled, dodging a lava serpent that spat a haiku:
"Flee, foolish outsiders / Your footprints shall be slippery / Like your life choices."
Ace paused to light a marshmallow on the lava serpent's nose. "Thanks for the snack!"
Back at the sub, they realized two things:
The transponder snail only communicated in Kaido karaoke. Ace had "accidentally" towed the entire nacho platter.
As the island's volcano erupted in the shape of a middle finger, Marya sighed. "Next time, I am not driving the extra sub."
Charlie, scribbling notes, muttered, "But the academic value—"
"NO."
Ace toasted the chaos. "Best. Detour. Ever."