The sun rose like a forge over Little Garden, casting molten light across the prehistoric landscape.
Verdant jungles steamed beneath the merciless heat, thick with the scent of overripe fruit, old blood, and wet stone. Towering trees, wide as mansions and tall as ships' masts, cracked and groaned in the humid wind. Beasts forgotten by time stirred in the undergrowth—claws raking ancient soil, fangs gleaming with instinctual hunger. High above the treetops, prehistoric birds circled, shrieking into the vast blue. And in the clearing between the forests, two titans roared.
The Giants
Dorry and Brogy.
Ancient Giants. Warriors of myth. Veterans of countless forgotten wars whose names even the sea had ceased to remember. For over a century, they had dueled beneath the shadow of fate, each clash of their weapons echoing like thunder, each blow cracking the air like Skyfire. Their blades were not merely instruments of war—they were arguments, waged day after day, over honor, pride, and a question neither could stop asking.
But today, something shifted.
They paused mid-swing. Their weapons hovered in the air; muscles locked in hesitation. Their instincts stirred like ancient drums waking from sleep.
Something... else had arrived.
The Arrival
From the jungle's edge, the Abyss Serpent emerged—impossibly silent for something so large. It did not snap branches; the trees parted for it. No wheels. No sails. No oars. Just an overwhelming sense of purpose, like a dream too large to ignore.
At its prow stood Ravro D. Flare.
The moment his boots touched the soil of Little Garden, the island noticed. Winds halted mid-breath. The predators that had not already fled now buried themselves deeper into the foliage. Even the trees leaned slightly inward, as if craning forward to witness.
Dorry turned first, narrowing his massive, battle-worn eyes.
"That one... doesn't smell like a man," he muttered.
Brogy lowered his axe. "He smells like the end of eras."
From the ship's deck, Mihawk descended like a shadow breaking off from night. Yoru gleamed across his back like a sleeping god of war. Velra stepped beside him, the air around her rippling softly as her spear began to hum. Robin remained aboard, her eyes scanning everything—recording not just movement, but meaning.
Then, from behind the trees, they came.
Ranks of hulking shapes stepped from the jungle's shadows—gorilla-like warriors clad in void-stitched armor. The Humandrill Abyss Guards, once wild beasts of Kuraigana, now reshaped by Ravro's will. Their black-iron skin shimmered faintly with unnatural light. Each step was precise, their formation tight, their expressions unreadable.
Dorry squinted. "He sends beasts to speak for him?"
Brogy snorted. "Doesn't even draw his weapon. Maybe he's just the handler."
Ravro said nothing.
He stood motionless, hands folded behind his back, cloak stirring in a wind that did not touch the rest of the jungle. He did not move. He did not blink. He did not need to.
"I am not here to trade words," he said, voice low, resonant, carved from silence and something deeper. "You will either kneel... or fall."
The giants laughed—loud and wild, voices crashing through the trees like twin storms.
"Kneel?" Brogy bellowed. "To a shadow that hides behind monkeys?"
"We've crushed kingdoms," Dorry added, pounding his chest. "And no name of yours ever reached our ears."
Ravro tilted his head.
"You'll remember it soon enough."
He raised a single hand.
The Clash
The Abyss Gorilla Corps surged forward.
Dozens of massive figures, armed with abyss-forged halberds and shadowbound blades, launched across the clearing. They did not scream. They did not hesitate. They fought like silence made flesh—brutal, coordinated, and utterly unyielding.
Mihawk did not move.
Velra did not speak.
Robin's quill glided across parchment, her expression unreadable, her eyes glittering with quiet intensity.
This was not a test for Ravro.
It was a test for the world.
The giants met the incoming wave with fury. Dorry's sword roared as it cleaved trees, stone, and soldiers alike. Brogy's axe spun in wide arcs, carving the jungle floor into ruin and sending bodies flying. Yet these were not the same beasts the world had once dismissed. These Humandrills were Abyss-touched, tempered under Mihawk's unrelenting hand, honed to move like echoes of war.
They fell, yes—but they bled the giants.
They drove them back.
And all the while, Ravro stood still.
Unmoving.
Watching.
As if the outcome had already been written.
The Whisper of Fate
And as the battle churned beneath the shadow of timeless trees, as blades clashed with spears and thunder met silence, the Abyss whispered a promise:
Those who survived this day would be reforged.
Or forgotten.