Camille, still catching her breath, stormed across the blood-drenched shoreline. Her boots made a wet squelch as they hit the crimson-stained sand. Around her, the air reeked of gunpowder, burned pollen, and something worse — the raw iron tang of freshly spilled blood. Jayce and Viktor trailed behind, their eyes scanning the destruction, their silence more telling than any words.
Benimaru stood calmly at the edge of the Nautilus' deck, as if none of it fazed him. Rifle still in hand, his gaze was fixed on the handful of pirates who remained — some kneeling in surrender, some paralyzed with fear, others quietly sobbing. All disarmed. All broken.
Camille's voice broke through the uneasy quiet.
"What the hell just happened?" she barked, her voice hoarse, disbelieving. Her eyes scanned the carnage — craters in the sand, petals drifting in the wind, limbs strewn like forgotten dolls. "This… this was you?"
Benimaru lowered the rifle. He turned toward them with a face as unreadable as ever—not cold, not cruel, just... composed. As if he'd just finished fixing a door hinge, not executing a massacre.
"They tried to take the ship," he said with an even tone. "So I stopped them."
Jayce's jaw tightened. "There were a lot of them, Benimaru."
"One hundred and fifty-two," he replied without hesitation. "Give or take."
Viktor's brow furrowed. "And you did all this? Alone?"
Benimaru gave a slight nod, stepping down from the deck into the surf. "About seventy percent. The rest chose to live."
Camille's expression softened into something unreadable — not shock, not anger… something caught between awe and discomfort. Her eyes moved over the surrendered pirates, their eyes hollow and haunted.
"What… did you do to them?"
Benimaru looked out at the pink petals still fluttering in the breeze. "I tested a new compound. A bullet, technically. Induces rapid botanical transformation in organic matter. Works well on soft tissue." His voice didn't waver. "I call it the Eden Round."
Jayce exhaled hard. "That's not a bullet. That's… that's some twisted art project."
Benimaru gave him a faint smile. "Art and science aren't as different as most people think."
A heavy silence fell between them. The same man who made stew for the elderly, who fixed broken wagons in their village, had just turned a beach into a graveyard.
Camille looked down at her own bloodied hands. She flexed her fingers slowly.
"So this was… what? A setup?"
Benimaru didn't flinch. "A lesson."
"You knew," Viktor said, his voice suddenly edged with anger. "You knew we'd be attacked. And you let us go into the forest blind?"
He nodded, unashamed. "Because you needed to see the world for what it is. Not what your village taught you. Not what you hoped it would be."
He turned to face them fully, his golden eyes steady.
"You've only known kindness. That's a luxury. But strength — real strength — it doesn't grow in warmth. It needs pressure. Pain. Conflict. The kind you faced today."
Camille looked down. The burns on her arms still ached. The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind the soreness, the sting — and something heavier, just beneath the surface.
"So what," she muttered. "We were just... part of some twisted training exercise?"
"No," Benimaru said. "You were learning how to survive."
Jayce looked out across the remains of the battlefield. His face hardened.
"What about them?" he asked, nodding at the pirates who remained. "You left some alive. Why?"
Benimaru tilted his head. "Because you haven't answered yet. This part's yours."
Camille, Viktor, and Jayce exchanged glances. None of them spoke for a moment.
Then Jayce stepped forward, hammer still in hand, its steel head dulled by dried blood and ash. He stared at the cowed pirates.
"We let a few go," he said gruffly. "Let them carry the story. Fear will do more than another body."
Viktor's jaw clenched. His arms were crossed tightly, stone dust still clinging to his gloves. "They're broken. Let them live with it. That's punishment enough."
Camille walked to one of the kneeling pirates — a broad-shouldered man with a broken nose and swollen eye. She knelt before him, her voice low and cold.
"If I see you again, anywhere in these seas," she whispered, "I'll end you. Slowly."
The man nodded rapidly, too afraid to speak.
Camille stood and turned to the others. "Let them go."
Benimaru didn't argue. He simply slung the rifle over his shoulder.
"Mercy, then," he murmured. "Very well."
The pirates scrambled to their feet, stumbling and crawling toward the jungle, leaving behind their weapons and what little dignity they had left. None dared look back.
But among them, unnoticed, was a small Den Den Mushi tucked under one man's coat. Silent. Unassuming.
It blinked.
Far away, a floating island drifted above the clouds — a fortress suspended by sheer will and unnatural power. Inside, within a throne room filled with ancient charts and gleaming relics, a Den Den Mushi began to buzz.
Golden Lion Shiki opened one eye.
The snail repeated the message — low, distorted, panicked:
"Shiki… Found a ship… weird guy on it, powerful… name's Benimaru… Island south of Shark's Maw…"
Shiki didn't move. Then slowly, a toothy grin crawled across his face.
"Benimaru, huh?" he rasped, exhaling smoke through yellowed teeth. "Let's see what kind of monster just made waves in my sea."
He rose from his throne, his sabers gleaming, wind swirling at his heels.
"Prepare a scouting fleet," he said. "Time to meet the locals."
And so, above a quiet sea, far from any map, a shadow began to fall.
Shiki was coming.